


The Alchemist's Apprentice

by TheInevitableSense



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Magic, Flashbacks, Getting Sober, IT'S NOT ACTUAL IT'S JUST A MISUNDERSTANDING I SWEAR, Implied Sexual Content, Kinda it doesn't really have those dynamics?, M/M, Nightmares, Oh my god I can't believe I finished this on time, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Teacher-Student Relationship, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 16:23:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 81,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11361129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheInevitableSense/pseuds/TheInevitableSense
Summary: A magic flower shop, a disillusioned war vet, a halfbood with something to prove, a dragon and a phoenix.What could go wrong?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pennylehane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennylehane/gifts).



> *rises from the ashes, holding this fic in trembling hands*
> 
> You said magic flower shop.
> 
> I got a little carried away.
> 
> Hope you don't mind Jamilton.

The ringing of the shop bell makes Thomas look up from where he was sorting potion bottles. From his spot at the counter, he could see the front door clearly, and so could see the man who had just walked through it. A short fellow, with the youthful beginnings of a goatee dressed in a familiar blue color that made Thomas’ heart sink. Around his wrists are what look like bracelets, but Thomas recognizes them for what they are and doesn’t focus on them.

“Welcome to Madison’s Botanica, what can I do for you today?” Thomas calls. He sounds far less friendly than he usually does, but it’s just before closing and the customer’s uniform is making his stomach churn. They’re the only two people in the shop and Thomas wishes it was just him.

“I’m looking for a Thomas Jefferson?” The man says. Thomas frowns.

“Who’s looking?” Thomas asks, well aware of the answer. He glares at the other man while he straightens his uniform and reaches inside the breast pocket of his coat.

“My name is Alexander Hamilton,” the man says. “I’m one of George Washington’s students, and I-”

“No,” Thomas interrupts. Hamilton trips over his next words, then gets out a coherent:

“No?”

“Tell Washington I said _no_ ,” Thomas repeats. Hamilton blinks.

“You don’t even know what I’m here to ask,” Hamilton says, pulling out a sealed letter from his jacket.

“Yes, I do, and my answer is no.” Thomas stands from his stool, plants his hands on the countertop and glares down at the other man. “Now, get out of my store.”

Hamilton’s jaw sets. “Washington says you have to read this,” he says, shoving the letter at Thomas. Thomas shakes his head, coming around the counter.

“I don’t need to read his reasons, I’m not coming back.” Thomas spins the shorter man around and plants his hands on the back of his shoulders.

“But-” The man protests, trying to dig his heels into the dirt-covered floor.

“No, no, no, no, _no_ ,” Thomas repeats, easily pushing the man along. “Absolutely not, I am not going back to service, no, no, no!” He pushes the man back to the door, grabs the handle, pulls it open and shoves the man outside. “Thank you, good day sir, my answer is _no_.”

With that, Thomas slams the clear door shut. He can see Hamilton whirl, glare at Thomas through the glass, then reach for the door again. Thinking quickly, Thomas pushes a bag of fertilizer in front of the door so it can’t open. Hamilton is stronger than he looks, pushing the door open a crack.

“Mr. Jefferson, you have to read this letter!” He calls. Thomas scowls and plants a hand on the door.

“I don’t need to do anything but stay right here and lock you out,” he growls back. Thomas pushes the door shut against Hamilton’s struggles and kicks over a second bag. Hamilton pushes, heaves against the door but it won’t budge under his slight frame. Thomas steps back, ready to dash for his keys and lock the door when Hamilton stops his fruitless attempt to open the door.

He watches Hamilton whip out a thin, wooden rod from his back pocket and Thomas groans. He readies himself for the sound of broken glass as Hamilton raises his wand, but the man just points it to his own throat. Thomas sees the man’s lips move in an incantation, and then when he speaks again Thomas can hear his voice, thrown just inside the store.

“Washington told me not to come back until you’ve read it,” Hamilton says, voice disjointedly coming from somewhere to Thomas’ right. _Can’t even place a ventriloquist charm right_ , Thomas thinks.

“No!” Thomas says, shaking his head and over exaggerating the word so Hamilton can read his lips through the glass. Hamilton scowls, his brow furrowing and eyes sparking in anger. Thomas barely sees him snap his wand around and point it right at him. He sees Hamilton’s lips move and jerks out of the way.

Thomas sees the flash of green, hears the glass of his door shatter as he watches the tendrils of magic ricochet then dissipate in the air. They fade before they hit any of his walls, plants or other products on the shelves, thank God. Thomas might have strangled the man if he’d destroyed anything else.

“Asshole!” Thomas shouts, glaring out the head-sized hole in his front door. Hamilton’s grip on his wand tightens even as he lowers it.

“Read the damn thing!” He says, shoving the letter through the jagged hole. Thomas glares down at it.

“I won’t,” Thomas says, crossing his arms.

“ _Read it so I can go home_ ,” Hamilton hisses, shaking the letter roughly. Thomas watches Hamilton almost impale his hand on glass shards with a deep set frown.

“If I read those summons then I’m required to go back to service and I refuse to do that,” Thomas insists, taking careful steps back. Hamilton lets out a frustrated noise.

“It’s not summons!” He exclaims. Thomas blinks, stopping short.

“It’s not?” He asks, suddenly unsure and - if he admits it to himself - a tad bit curious. Hamilton frowns, face distorted by the spider web of cracks around the hole in the door.

“They don’t _look_ like summons,” Hamilton grumbles. Thomas’ eyebrows furrow.

“Do you actually know what’s in that envelope?” Thomas asks. Hamilton fidgets.

“No, not really.” Hamilton wiggles the letter again. “Just take it and read it so I can go back to Washington.”

Thomas hesitates. If these are summons, he’s going to march down to Mount Vernon and… well, he doesn’t know exactly what he’ll do but he’s sure as hell not putting on that damn uniform again. With a growl, Thomas snatches the letter from Hamilton’s outstretched hand. The wax seal, glowing slightly with Washington’s silver magic, taunts him.

Thomas presses his thumb against the seal and it glows brighter, then disappears. Likely gone back to Washington so the general has proof Thomas at least opened the letter. Steeling himself, he opens the envelope, pulls out the beige stationary and unfolds the letter.

Well, it’s not a summons.

Thomas reads the page through, reads it a second time and then looks up to find Hamilton still standing there. The man is frowning and tapping his foot impatiently. “I’m supposed to get an answer from you before I leave,” he explains.

“You really didn’t know what was in here?” Thomas asks, hitting the paper lightly with one hand. Hamilton shakes his head. Thomas grits his jaw, looks back down at the paper, and sighs. “Washington has asked me to make you my apprentice.”

Hamilton starts, eyes going wide. “Washington is my instructor, my apprenticeship is supposed to be with him,” he protests. Thomas shrugs.

“Says here he wants you to focus on herbology and alchemy and he doesn’t have the time to specialize you with his other students.” Thomas holds out the letter for Hamilton to take and Hamilton pulls it through the hole in the door. His eyes flick across the page, only for him to let out a groan.

“The Headmaster charmed it,” Hamilton says, pressing the paper against the glass. The whole page of writing is gone, replaced with a single line:

_Hamilton, I don’t know how you got past the seal but this is for Jefferson. Not you_.

Thomas snorts. “Give it back then,” he says, and Hamilton complies. The moment the paper is in Thomas’ hands, the single line fades and is replaced with Washington’s plea for Thomas to take Hamilton in. Thomas sighs, skimming the page for the fourth time.

_Hamilton is the brightest, most determined student I’ve had since you. Take him under your wing for but a few months and send him back when you believe you can teach him nothing more. It won’t take you long._

Washington’s bold signature graces the bottom and is followed by a simple postscript:

_Your success is a direct result of leaving service early. Do not forget who let you out of your contract. I’ll send his belongings via hippogriff an hour behind him._

Thomas rubs the bridge of his nose with one hand. Damn Washington, damn him and his damn ploys. “Alright,” Thomas breathes. “Get in here.” He kicks the bags of fertilizer over so Hamilton can open the door just wide enough to slip through. Glass crunches under Hamilton’s uniform boots and Thomas stifles a sigh.

“Guess you’re stuck with me for a while kid,” Thomas says begrudgingly. Hamilton’s frown deepens.

“What do you mean?” Hamilton asks. “You’re rejecting his request, right?”

“Wish I could,” Thomas grumbles, turning around and heading back to the counter top. “Clean up your mess while I write Washington back.”

Hamilton stomps after Thomas, Thomas can hear the heavy thuds of his boots on the tile. “You’re going to tell him you can’t apprentice me and send me back to Mount Vernon.”

Thomas slides around the shop counter, Hamilton staying on the other side thankfully. The man is already giving Thomas a headache. “Believe me kid, I would if I could.” He eyes Hamilton as he blindly grabs parchment and a pen from under the desk. “How old are you, kid? Fifteen?”

“I’m nineteen.”

Thomas rolls his eyes. “Sure you are kid.”

“I am!” Hamilton insists.

“Because nineteen-year-olds wear suppressors.” Thomas motions at the braces around Hamilton’s wrists. “Get going, the glass isn’t going to sweep itself.”

Hamilton’s eyes bug out. “You want me to _what_?”

“Broom’s over there,” he says, pointing to the corner of the shop. “If you want to try and get up all the dirt as well, that would be wonderful.” Hamilton looks over at the broom, then back at Thomas, disbelief and confusion plastered across his face. “Well, go on then.”

“...what do you want me to do?” Hamilton asks. Thomas frowns, stomps over to the corner, grabs the broom and shoves it in Hamilton’s hands. They stand there for a moment, in silence, before Hamilton looks back up at Thomas. “What is this?”

“A broom?” Thomas says, starting to feel the same disbelief that’s stretched across Hamilton’s face. “You sweep with it.”

“You what?”

Thomas sighs. “Alright, lesson one. I’m going to teach you how to fly.”

Hamilton’s face lights up. “Wait, really?”

“No, you idiot,” Thomas snaps. He grabs the broom from Hamilton’s hands and begrudgingly demonstrates how to _sweep_. “Not all that hard,” he says, offering the broom back to the boy. Hamilton huffs, snatches it from his hand, and stomps off to the door, grumbling under his breath.

Thomas rolls his eyes, picks up his pen and composes a letter. His response to Washington is elegant, brief and to the point.

_Washington-_

_I’ll do as you requested, but if you pull something like this again, I will personally guarantee the next meal you eat will be sprinkled with Liquid Fire._

_-Jefferson_

It takes him less than a moment to compose, but when he looks up Hamilton is back at the counter. “Done,” Hamilton says. Thomas glances around him only to see the broom - sparkling deep green - dancing along the floor on its own. The door is in the midst of being repaired, the cracks sparking as they seal back together.

Thomas’ eye twitches as a particularly large spark cracks and skitters across the floor before fading.

“So, that’s the rejection?” Hamilton asks. Thomas inhales sharply.

“No, Hamilton. You and I are _unfortunately_ stuck together until you have some semblance of skill with plants and potions,” Thomas says.

“I still don’t understand why you won’t just-”

“It’s not up for discussion,” Thomas interrupts. “It’s what Washington wants.” Hamilton’s face screws up in anger, but he doesn’t protest further. “Now, what experience do you have with herbology and alchemy?”

“I can make a healing potion,” Hamilton says.

“Is that it?”

“I mean, how hard is growing a few plants and liquidizing them?”

Thomas’ headache grows that much stronger. He screws his eyes shut and rubs his face for a moment. “Okay then,” Thomas says. “I suppose I can show you around.”

“You suppose?” Hamilton asks. Thomas ignores the tone in Hamilton’s voice.

“The front of the shop is organized into three sections,” Thomas says. “Dry ingredients, live samples and pre-made potions.” Thomas points to each section of shelves in order. The live plants in tanks and pots line one wall, the dried leaves hang on the opposite and the middle shelves are stocked with bottles of tinctures and potions. “We’ll go over specifics later, I guess. Just know everything has a place and it will stay that way, do you understand me?”

Hamilton nods, eyes scanning the rows. “So, I’ve got a question.”

“Great. I do sell poisons as well, but those are locked up and I’ve got forms for people to fill out when they buy one.” Thomas roots around under the counter, looking for the stacks of papers to show Hamilton.

“Why do you own a shop out in Nowhere, Virginia?” Hamilton asks.

“Because I can,” Thomas answers. He pulls the forms for poison purchases and throws them on the counter. “It’s exceedingly important the count of potions - harmful or otherwise - is tracked carefully - ”

“You fought in the war against King George, why aren’t you still with Washington?”

“- and there are some plants -”

“They say you were a hero,” Hamilton says and Thomas’ mouth clicks shut. There’s a silence between them for a moment before Thomas takes a breath and says:

“Some plants require permits to buy and cultivate.”

Hamilton looks at Thomas, eyes narrowing. Thomas pushes away from the counter and slips around Hamilton, not meeting his gaze. He crosses to the door in the shop’s back wall and opens it. “We’ll go over that. The stockrooms are back here.”

Hamilton follows Thomas through the door and into a small hallway. There are three doors ahead of them, two on either side and one ahead of them. Thomas opens the one to the left and leads Hamilton into the greenhouse.

Hamilton’s eyes go wide as he takes in the sight of the multicolored flora and fauna. The room is sectioned off by glass walls, each one labeled with a particular climate. To their direct right - a section labeled ‘desert’ - a false sun beats down on cacti and patches of grass poking through the sand.

“I’ve separated the room by climate type, and then within each greenhouse, each row is a geographic location, each tank is a different type of soil. I’ve found that mimicking the natural habitat as best as possible creates the best results.” Thomas leads Hamilton down the path between each tank, letting him take in the sights. “Memorize where everything is, it makes it easier.”

Hamilton peers through the glass of the rainforest section, watching sprinklers pour water onto the rows of plants. “I’d also be careful about walking in while the weather’s going off, and don’t do anything stupid. Like walking into the tundra biome in shorts and a tank top.” Thomas jerks a thumb at the aforementioned tundra where much of the glass has gone opaque with condensation. “It’ll be your job to clean that glass, by the way.”

Hamilton opens his mouth to speak, but Thomas is already headed off back towards the hallway. The boy just grumbles to himself as Thomas throws open the door on the opposite side of the greenhouse. Inside is a much smaller room, about half the size of the actual storefront. The walls are lined with empty bottles, dry and drying leaves, and countless beakers, bottles, burners, and whatever else is useful in potion making.

“The alchemy lab,” Thomas says. The room smells overwhelmingly like a dying forest. Thomas is used to the scent, but it takes Hamilton off guard if the look on his face is any indication. “Most of what I make goes right out on the shop floor but there are a few bottles with stuff in them so I’d be careful about just grabbing them from the shelf.”

Hamilton looks around the room, taking a step inside and scanning the shelves. Thomas lets him just examine the room, carefully watching him to makes sure that he doesn’t touch anything. Then Hamilton points to a case on the topmost shelf.

“What’s that?” He says. Thomas glances up. Hamilton is pointing to a panel of glass set into a wooden frame. Six bottles sit just behind the glass, each a distinct color and shape. In order, they stand pink, red, blue, orange, green and black, each one no bigger than two of Thomas’ fingers.

“That’s the barely legal cabinet,” Thomas says. “You are never to touch it.”

“What are the bottles inside?” Hamilton asks. _The kid just loves his questions,_ Thomas thinks.

“Potions and poisons that are exceedingly controlled. I only make one bottle at a time and sell to people with impeccable forms.”

“Yeah, okay, but what _are_ they?” Hamilton peers up at the cabinet. Thomas rolls his eyes. Starting with the light pink bottle on the left, he rattles off the names of each one.

“Love Potion, _Lust_ Potion, Truth Serum, Liquid Fire, Amnesiac, and Assassin’s Brew.”

Hamilton whips around to face him, eyes wide. “You have a bottle of Assassin’s Brew?” He asks. Thomas nods.

“Made it myself. I’ve only ever sold three bottles, and each time it was to a zoologist that needed to put down some nasty creature.” Hamilton looks up at it, an odd glint in his eye. “I will _not_ be teaching you how to make that. Don’t even ask.”

“Oh come on!” Hamilton exclaims. “Let me learn something fun while I’m trapped here, at least!”

“Assassin’s Brew isn’t _fun_ ,” Thomas spits. Hamilton’s head snaps to him as Thomas keeps speaking. “There is nothing enjoyable about the most deadly concoction known to man. It kills giants in a matter of moments, do you know how quickly human lives succumb to it?” Hamilton shakes his head, oddly silent. “There have been people that don’t even get to _swallow_ it, it’s that potent. You will _never_ touch a bottle of it.

“Hell, if I catch you fiddling with that cabinet, if you so much as look at it too long, I will send you back to Washington and you’ll have to explain to him why you’re growing fool's leaf out of your head and coughing up petals from your lungs.” Thomas glares at Hamilton sternly. The other man swallows and nods.

“Any questions?” Thomas asks. Hamilton pauses with an odd light dancing behind his eyes.

“What’s behind the last door?” He asks. Thomas glances behind himself at the last door in the hallway.

“My apartment,” Thomas says. Hamilton nods again.

“Where am I sleeping?” Hamilton asks. Thomas stops. He hadn’t thought of that.

“There’s a supply closet off the shop front,” he says eventually. Hamilton starts.

“A _supply_ closet?” He asks. “Don’t you have a couch or something in your apartment?”

“You are not allowed in my apartment,” Thomas snaps back almost instantly. The fire that had died in Hamilton’s eyes blazed brightly again.

“So I’m sleeping in a closet?!”

Thomas shrugs. “Washington seems to think you’re smart. You’ll find a way to make it work.” With that, Thomas turns and heads back out into the shop proper. Hamilton’s new closet is tucked by the dry ingredients shelf, and Thomas opens the door for him. It’s much smaller than he remembers, but perhaps that’s simply because he’s viewing it as a bedroom and not just a place to throw paper towels and brooms.

“You can’t be serious,” Hamilton says, looking at the tiny space.

“Unless you want to go camping in one of the greenhouse biomes, I suggest you make yourself comfortable.” Thomas smiles at the man, finding at least a small amount of satisfaction in the way the man scowls. If Thomas is going to be miserable through this, Hamilton will be too. Maybe then Washington will think twice about sending him another ‘prodigy.’

Hamilton steps inside the closet, measuring it with his eyes. As they stand there, Thomas hears the bell on the door ring. He turns to greet the customer only to catch sight of the hippogriff sitting outside. The delivery boy stands in Thomas’ shop and Thomas waves him over.

“Hamilton, your things,” Thomas says. Hamilton turns, surprise in his eyes that quickly fades.

“Washington,” he mutters in realization. Hamilton snatches the bags from the delivery boy and drops them on the floor of the closet. Thomas stops the boy before he can leave.  
“Are you going back to Mount Vernon?” He asks. The boy nods, so Thomas hands him his letter to Washington with instructions to deliver it. The boy nods and heads out. Thomas watches him scramble up his ride’s back and take off into the sky.

“You never answered my question from earlier,” Hamilton says, pulling Thomas’ attention back to him. “Why’d you give everything up to run a pokey little plant shop?”

“None of your business, kid,” Thomas snaps. Hamilton huffs.

“At least tell me what the war was like?” He asks. “I was just a kid and I wanted to fight but…” Hamilton trails as he notices the way Thomas is staring down at him. Once again, Hamilton falls silent. Thomas takes a steadying breath.

“Why don’t we go over some rules, hm?” Thomas asks. He holds up one finger. “One: _We do not talk about the war_.” Thomas raises a second finger. “Two: You do not touch the cabinet in the alchemy lab. Three: You do not touch anything without my explicit permission or instruction.” Thomas keeps ticking fingers. “Four: You do not enter my apartment. And Five: You will follow my every instruction and order to the letter, quickly and efficiently. If you follow those rules, we’ll be fine and you’ll be out of here in no time.”

“And if I don’t?” Hamilton asks. Thomas glowers, expression somehow falling even further.

“I did not survive a war by sheer luck,” he says. “Are we understood?”

“Understood,” Hamilton intones, already sounding like a petulant child.

“Good, your instruction starts tomorrow..” With that, Thomas shuts the door on Hamilton, closing him into the closet. He lets out a deep breath, fighting the desire to close the shop, go upstairs and down another bottle of wine.

He loses the fight.

\--------------

“Wake up kid,” Thomas says, throwing Hamilton’s door open. Hamilton groans curled up on the floor on a blanket. He’s in nothing but the uniform undershirt and boxers. “We got work to do.”

Hamilton cracks his eyes open and glances at a little rock by his head. “The sun’s not even up yet,” he says.

“I know,” Thomas shoots back. “Get up.”

Hamilton glares at him, but Thomas has already turned away. His vision is still slightly swimming from breakfast. Thomas normally manages to limit himself to a single shot or glass in the mornings, but faced with the concept of dealing with Hamilton all day, he’d let himself slip.

He hears Hamilton grumble, stand and follow him into the shop proper. Thomas can feel Hamilton’s glare on his back but he doesn't say anything. He just silently leads Hamilton back into the greenhouse. Thomas finds the grasslands biome more from muscle memory than coherent thought and tugs open the glass door.

“Sunburn blossoms have to be picked before the sun comes up,” Thomas says, reaching into one of the baskets in the corner of the greenhouse. He pulls out a pair of gardener’s gloves and fumbles trying to put them on. “Any idea why?”

“Because they hate letting people sleep in?” Hamilton asks dryly. Thomas finally manages to tug his gloves on trembling hands. He looks up at Hamilton, who at some point had the thought to put on actual pants, shorts that cut off at the knee.

“ _Because_ the flowers open with the sunrise and the petals are coated in a corrosive paste that will eat all the way through your hands.” Thomas picks up the basket and makes his way to where the blossom plants are. He searches through the orange and yellow leaves until he finds a ripe bud.

“See this?” Thomas asks, glancing over his shoulder to find Hamilton hovering curiously over the tank. “The outside of the bud is bright yellow. This one is ready to bloom for the first time. Which means it also has the most paste inside it. _This_ is exactly what we want. Watch carefully.” Thomas pinches the stem of the bud between two fingers tightly before using his other hand to twist the bud as one might do to an apple they intend to pick.

After a moment, the bud pops off the stem with just the tiniest spurt of clear liquid. Thomas bends the severed stem so any of the sunburn paste left inside doesn't run onto his hand or the plant. The droplets hit the soil with little hissing noises.

“Just like that,” Thomas says, dropping the bud into the basket. “Simple, as long as you don't fuck it up you won't get hurt.” Thomas lets go of the stem and it falls to the bottom of the tank, harmless. Thomas tugs off his gloves and holds them out to Hamilton. “Your turn.”

Hamilton starts, takes the gloves slowly and eyes the drops of smoldering dirt. Then something flashes in his eyes and he tugs the gloves on. Thomas watches as he plunges his hands into the mess of leaves and pulls out a smaller, yellow bud and pinches the stem. Hamilton moves with speed, almost ripping the bud off before it’s ready and sending more corrosive matter flying onto the soil. But it gets dropped in the basket and there are no burn marks on Hamilton’s arms.

Thomas nods. _Quick study,_ he thinks to himself, _thank God._ “Alright. Pick all the ripe ones you can get before they start blooming. I’ll be in the front,” he instructs. Hamilton, one hand already stuck into the foliage, looks up at him.

“You’re leaving me to do this on my own?” Hamilton asks. He glances around the greenhouse. “There’s two whole rows of this stuff!”

“I’ve been doing it on my own for years, suck it up kid,” Thomas grumbles. Before Hamilton can protest again, Thomas leaves the greenhouse without looking back. Maybe if Hamilton keeps his mouth shut and just does the work, this won’t be too bad. Hamilton can buzz about doing the menial work and Thomas can ignore him.

Something in Thomas says that won’t happen, Hamilton is too pushy and full of questions, but he can hope.

Thomas makes his way back to the front of the store and starts his opening routine. Starting on the potions wall, he slowly checks each and every shelf to make sure everything is in it’s proper place. He weaves his way through the shelves, taking a mental inventory, the only sounds are his footsteps and the singing berries in the corner. Their high-pitched whistling will die down once the sun rises.

Satisfied that everything is correct, Thomas makes his way back to the counter, checks to make sure all his supplies are tucked away neatly, then grabs his keys from the bowl under the counter. Thomas unlocks the door, switches the ‘closed’ sign around and trudges back to the counter. It’s much earlier than he would typically open the place, but Hamilton is doing the major pre-open chore for the day and Thomas doesn’t feel like going back and brewing up replacements for the cooling regents he sold yesterday.

Instead, he sits on his stool and pulls out one of the bottles he has stored underneath the countertop. It’s a basic healing potion bottle, but when Thomas uncorks it and takes a sip the familiar sweet taste of Lily Wine floods his mouth. It reminds him that he’s due a shipment of lily seeds today, but Hamilton can unload and store it.

Nipping his drink, Thomas files through the poison sale paperwork from yesterday, tallying the forms against his sales book. He’s so engrossed in his task he doesn’t notice Hamilton emerge from the back room until the man drops a wicker basket of picked buds onto the counter. Thomas looks up, bottle still to his lips, eyeing the sweating, dirt covered man. His hands drum along the basket handles and Thomas can see large, angry welts along his wrists and arms.

Thomas peers down into the basket and finds a few of the buds aren’t entirely buds anymore, some of them are slightly unfurled and covered in thick, shining droplets. Thomas glances up, finds the sun shining through the front windows. “I told you to be done before they bloomed.”

“They haven’t bloomed,” Hamilton protests. “Not completely anyway.” Thomas cocks one eyebrow.

“And I assume those burn marks aren’t burn marks either?”

Hamilton looks down at his arms. “Trial and error,” he grumbles. Thomas frowns.

“I showed you exactly what to do, what the hell do you mean ‘trial and error?’” He asks. Hamilton blows a strand of hair out of his face.

“Took me a minute to figure out what spell to use,” Hamilton says. Thomas can see where they boy’s wand is tucked behind his ear. Now that Thomas is looking for it, he can also see the tendrils of forest green around the severed stems of each bud. He lets out a noise halfway between a grumble and a sigh and stands from his stool. He has to hold onto the counter when the wine hits him and he sways on his feet.

“You good?” Hamilton asks.

“Foot fell asleep,” Thomas lies, snatching the basket from the counter. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hamilton glance at Thomas’ bottle curiously. “Come on, gonna show you how to process these things.” Thomas is through the door before Hamilton can speak. He half-stumbles his way into the alchemy lab and drops the basket on the table.

“Give me the gloves,” Thomas says. Hamilton obligingly hands them over and Thomas slips them on. “First thing you have to do is gather as much of the paste you can, then clean the rest of it out.” Thomas pulls a jar already half-filled with the viscous gel. He holds a bud over the top with one hand and with the other he slowly massages it until drops of paste _plop_ into the jar. It’s like squeezing toothpaste from the tube, his fingers working slowly but surely to get every chunk he can.

When he’s done with that, he shows Hamilton how to dunk the buds in a base solution so any remaining paste is neutralized, then how to open, wash and set the petals out to dry without damaging any of them. It takes Thomas almost five minutes to do just the one, but he’s going slowly to make sure Hamilton sees exactly what he’s doing.

“Got it?” He asks. Hamilton, chewing on one lip, nods. Thomas hands over the gloves and Hamilton takes them without complaint this time. Just like last time, Hamilton proves himself a quick study and Thomas only has to correct how he handles an opened bud once. Thomas makes him do a second under supervision before the sound of a distant bell interrupts them.

“Customer,” Thomas explains to Hamilton’s confused expression. “I’ll be back. Don’t fuck these up.” Thomas leaves Hamilton behind and makes his way back to the store front. He calls his usual greeting, and the woman - Thomas recognizes her as a regular - says hi. She starts to chat, more _at_ him than with him, looking through the shelves of potions.

She looks up at him, green-tinted hair cascading around her face. “Do you have anything that might tame a wild patch of crow herb?” She asks. Thomas cocks an eyebrow.

“Did you let more than seven sprigs grow?” Thomas asks. She doesn’t respond, but her turned-up pout tells Thomas all he needs to know. “How bad is it?”

“There are beaks forming. One of them snapped at me,” she says. Thomas’ jaw grits.

“Try a solution of owl’s breath,” he suggests.

There’s another pause before the witch pipes up “I don’t see any.” Thomas frowns, he thought he’d had some out. He extracts himself out from behind the counter and makes his way over to her. He instantly zeros in on where he knows the bottles should be and internally groans when he sees that, indeed, the shelf is empty there. He offers an apology and tells her he’ll check the back. Thomas is _sure_ he’s got some there, and if not it’s not at all hard to make.

When Thomas opens the door to his alchemy lab, however, he stops short. Hamilton is perched on one of the counters, intensely reading a book in one hand while the other lazily draws circles in the air with his wand. The ropes of green magic extend from the tip, half a dozen lines extending throughout the room. They act as hands, quickly processing the sunburn blossoms for Hamilton.

“What the hell are you doing?” Thomas snaps. Hamilton jumps, eyes snapping out of his book. The magic hands falter for a moment but are instantly back to work. Thomas eyes the two tendrils working in tandem to extract the paste, feeling his stomach turn to stone.

“Multi-tasking,” Hamilton says. The green magic burns brands in Thomas’ mind, the electric quality of the air making his hair stand on end.

“Well stop it!” Thomas demands. Hamilton blinks. Thomas’ heart stops as one of the hands pass by his face, though logically it has to be almost five feet away. But Thomas’ brain is not running on logic. He does not dare move, not even to back out of the room.

“What would you have me do instead?” Hamilton asks, incredulously.

“Do it by hand,” Thomas says, voice starting to rise. Hamilton’s jaw drops.

“I did it twice by hand right, I get to use magic now. That’s Washington’s rule.”

“Well I’m not Washington, so you’re not allowed to use magic,” Thomas snaps.

“Not at all?!”

“Absolutely no magic!” Thomas insists. The magic hands still and shimmer in the air.

“How am I supposed to do this then?” Hamilton asks.

“With your feet,” Thomas drawls. Dawning horror on Hamilton’s face makes him rolls his eyes and spit: “By hand, you idiot!”

Hamilton lets out a breath, and the hands disappear after setting down the buds gently. Thomas waits until the feeling of residual magic starts to fade before stomping over to the shelf and pulling down the purple bottle of owl’s breath. Before he exits the lab, he says over his shoulder: “And this goes for all your chores. No magic. Period.”

Thomas slams the door behind him before Hamilton can respond. He fixes his face into something carefully neutral before he walks out into the shop proper and hands the woman the bottle. She smiles at him, pays and exits the store. Thomas doesn’t even wait to sit down before he finishes off his bottle of wine in one gulp.

_Fucking Hamilton,_ he thinks, head hung over his counter.


	2. Chapter 2

Hamilton has been in the shop for two weeks and Thomas is ready to tear the man’s head off.

Hamilton _must_ think he’s stupid or something. Thomas can see the faint glow of green seeping out from underneath the closet door. He can feel the heavy residual magic in the air when he walks into a greenhouse Hamilton just left. Thomas knows the boy is using magic when he thinks he can get away with it, and it’s driving him nuts.

But he can’t catch Hamilton in the act, no matter how hard he tries. All he can do is glare and grumble when Hamilton shoves his wand into his pocket and jumps into some task with his hands like he’d been doing it that way the whole time. Kid much be placing detection charms around to make sure Thomas doesn’t actually get the chance to skin him alive for it. It’s only been a few days and the very air in the shop has changed.

So he stews at the front counter, knowing Hamilton is using come cutting charm to trim the golden rod berry leaves like Thomas told him to, and making his way through his second bottle of Desert Whiskey. It burns going down his throat but when it hits his stomach it warms him from the inside out. His skin is just starting to tingle in the right way and Thomas starts thinking about closing up early, leaving Hamilton to inventory and going upstairs to pass out.

Then the bell chimes and Thomas almost slams the bottle onto the counter. _Damn it,_ he thinks to himself as he tries to make his mouth work without slurring.

“Welcome to Madison’s Botanica, how can I help you?” he intones. He wants more whiskey, needs to feel warm. Needs to feel his body boiling from the inside. He looks up lazily, finds a group of newcomers talking amongst themselves and making their way along the aisle towards him.

The man at the front is a scrawny kid with a gaunt face and half-shaven hair. He looks like a massive shit kid in a giant leather jacket and a tattoo of a chimera crawling around his face. He’s got a girl practically draped on his shoulder, an equally tiny thing wearing a crop top, plaid skirt and huge dangling earrings. There are two other men straggling in behind them, what looks like a set of twins with matching hairstyles and heterochromatic eyes, the colors switched between them.

All together, they look like the kind of people you see loitering in the alleyway behind a roller rink daring each other to go poke the homeless guy with their wands.

Needless to say, Thomas is not impressed.

So when Chimera Face nods and saunters up to the counter, Thomas is already counting the minutes until they leave. “Yeah, man. We came here to get something.”

“I don’t sell weed,” Thomas says. One of the twins, the one with his blue eye on the left, snorts.

“Nah, we ain’t come to get high,” Chimera Face says. _Look like you already are_ , Thomas thinks, but drums his fingers on the counter.

“Then what can I get you?”

Chimera Face glances back at the twins, then at his girl. All three nod, the girl giggles, and Chimera Face looks back at Thomas with a smirk. “You can get us all the money in that there lockbox of yours.”

Thomas feels like his eyes roll all the way into the back of his head. “Just get out of my shop,” Thomas sighs. “I’m not in the mood for jokes.”

“We’re serious,” the girl says. Little ice gems twinkle in her earrings as her head tilts away from Chimera Face. She’s going for ‘unsettling’ and Thomas almost wants to smack the smile off her face.

“Leave and I won’t even call the cops.”

“We’re not leaving without that gold,” Chimera Face says. Thomas cocks an eyebrow.

“Look, we all know you’re not actually going to rob me.”

The twins step forward as Chimera Face scowls. “You sure about that?” Thomas levels him with a look.

“You’re all bark, kid. You’re just trying to impress your little friends and get in this girl’s pants. Look for your adrenaline rush somewhere else. Get out of here before you bite off more than you can chew.”

Chimera Face’s expression turns stormy. The tattoo monster opens its mouth in a silent hiss at Thomas. Before Thomas knows what’s happening, there’s the end of a wand in his face. “No one talks about me like that,” he snaps. Thomas jerks, leaning away from the pointed end and swallowing.

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret kid,” he warns. Thomas feels his heart start to pound in his chest.

“Or you’ll do what?” Chimera Face asks. The end of the wand starts to light up in a dingy red color, casting light around the shop. The others already have their wands in their hands and Thomas lets out a breath. Slowly, he raises his hands.

“Put it down,” Thomas says, throat going dry.

“Hand over the money and I will.” Chimera Face glowers at Thomas and Thomas finds himself unable to speak. The light at the end of the wand is growing, and Thomas’ eyes are glued to it as he slowly reaches behind him to grab his cash box.

“Look who’s all bark now,” the girl teases. The twins laugh and even Chimera Face cracks a smile. Thomas - the sound of his heart pounding in his ears almost enough to drown everything else out - puts the box on the counter. One of the twins reaches for it, hand about to close over the handle at the top -

A streak of green light blasts past Thomas and hits the man’s hand. Instantly, it cuts into the flesh and Thomas sees the way it squirms under the man’s skin. It glows brighter, causing the man’s hand to seize.

Thomas’ brain goes into overdrive and slows down in the exact same moment. He recognizes what’s happened - Hamilton has fired a paralyzing spell into Twin Number One’s hand - but it’s like it’s all happening ten feet away.

“ _Deflectum,_ ” Hamilton hisses, throwing up a barrier between Thomas and Chimera Face’s wand - just in time for Chimera Face to cast his own spell and have it ricochet towards the door.

“Shit!” Twin Number One hisses, holding his hand to his stomach as his brother whirls on Hamilton.

“ _Immolegio,_ ” Twin Number Two says, sending a beam of sky blue light straight for Hamilton. Hamilton throws himself behind the counter, diving out of the way and behind cover. A moment later, he’s aiming over the counter at Twin Number Two.

“ _Coresco Imperfaci._ ” Hamilton’s green magic erupts from his wand and the girl only just manages to throw up her own shield around them. It cracks under Hamilton’s spell but holds enough for Twin Number Two to slide behind a shelf. “Jefferson, help me out here!” Hamilton calls, not taking his eyes off the group as they scramble for cover.

Thomas is frozen, wide-eyed as he watches Hamilton fire off rapid bursts of magic into the shop. The shield in front of him shimmers gently in the air and Thomas stumbles back away from it. His back hits the shelf behind him, hands catching on a ledge as the wannabe thieves start to return fire.

Flashes of red, green, blue, pink and yellow dance in front of Thomas’ eyes. There are voices shouting, the sound of wood and marble splintering. The crack of magic striking magic makes Thomas jump, his breathing raggedly tearing itself from his lungs.

“Jefferson! What the hell are you doing?!” Hamilton snaps, but it’s not Hamilton. The counter under his hands isn’t a counter. The smell of smoke fills his nose and he’s holding onto a crumbling building.

“We’re outnumbered, do _something!_ ” James shouts, and Thomas shuts his eyes. He tries to block it out, tries to ignore the sound of screams and explosions, tries to _breathe_ but the air is so heavy with magic he’s afraid he’ll breathe in a whole fireball.

Red light splashes against his closed eyelids and he hears someone whimper. Thomas’ knees give out and he sinks to the floor. _I’m sorry,_ he wants to shout, but his throat is closed up and he can hardly breathe. _I’m sorry Jemmy, I can’t do it, it wasn’t me, I’m sorry, help me -_

A body hits the floor beside him and someone cheers. Another casualty, Thomas assumes. He doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to see which life has been cut short beside him. He hears a muttered ‘fuck’ and then there are hands on him.

“Jefferson, come on!” Someone screams at him. Thomas doesn’t recognize the voice. There are too many soldiers that come and die that it’s too hard to memorize their voices. Thomas is frozen, knees pulled up to his chest and he’s just waiting for it all to end. The hands disappear from his shoulders and there’s a flash of green.

Thomas cracks open his eyes, finds himself still on a battlefield, Hamilton standing in protection over him. He’s firing bolt after bolt of magic, hair wild and loose. Thomas tries to scramble away from him, but his entire body feels like he’s being encased in ice.

Hamilton is shouting spells, wand flicking through the air so fast Thomas can’t even see it. Twin bolts of blue hit the wall on either side of Hamilton’s head. He doesn’t even flinch, just fires off spells back.

“Fuck it! It’s not worth it!” Someone shouts. There’s a shouting of agreement and then a scrambling of feet. A few more spells are fired and Hamilton vaults over the counter.

“That’s right fuckers! Don’t come back!” Hamilton shouts, and then it goes quiet. The only sounds are Hamilton’s heavy breathing and Thomas’ ragged gasps, but Thomas can still hear the echoes of shouted incantations and magic zipping through the air.

Footsteps cut through Thomas’ awareness and then Hamilton is standing at the open end of the counter, chest heaving. He’s coated in sweat, and there’s a black spot on his shirt on his stomach. They stare at each other for a moment, and then Hamilton clears his throat.

“What,” he breathes, “the _fuck_ was that.”

Thomas can’t smell smoke anymore; the pressure at his back is the inside of his counter, not a pile of rubble. He looks up at Hamilton, can see the slightly disrupted shelf of dried leaves behind him.

Thomas is in his botanica, with Alexander Hamilton.

“I…” Thomas trails. He has no idea how to explain, if he should, if he _can_. Hamilton’s jaw is clenched, his hand a fist around his wand. The braces around his wrists are glowing a dangerous hot-red and sparks of green dance around the edges.

“No, go on. Tell me why you left me to almost get my ass kicked by four _punks_ ,” Hamilton spits. Thomas swallows, nearly chokes, on the dryness of his throat. He screws his eyes shut for a moment, willing his body to move. Picking up his hands feels like moving through molasses, struggling to his feet is a Herculean task even aided by the counter. Hamilton glares at him while Thomas pulls himself to his feet.

When Thomas is standing, Hamilton tilts his head, a request for Thomas to explain. But Thomas has no words. He has nothing. So his hand dances along the counter until it hits the shattered remains of his whiskey bottle and the sticky residue on the counter.

“I’m going upstairs,” Thomas says. “Close, clean and fix everything.” Hamilton’s eyes bug out as Thomas stumbles towards him and the door to the back. Thomas needs a drink, a strong one, _multiple_ strong ones. Enough to shut out everything threatening to come surging back to the front of his head. One trip down memory lane is enough for today.

“Excuse me?” Hamilton asks, voice tight.

“I’m going to bed,” Thomas lies. His voice sounds weak to him, small in the presence of the storm threatening to break in his mind.

“Uh, no you’re not,” Hamilton says. “Not until you explain what just happened.” Hamilton tries to plant himself in the path to the door but he’s so small Thomas can slip around him.

“See you in the morning,” Thomas replies. He hears Hamilton let out a sound of disbelief, something between a laugh and a sigh.

“Are you fucking serious?” Hamilton asks. “You leave me to fight five-on-one alone - not that I’m not capable - so some ‘war hero’ you are - are you even _listening_ to me?!” Thomas doesn’t respond. He’s almost at the door now, a shaking hand reaching for the knob -

Thomas is jolted from behind, the familiar sting of a stunning curse hitting the center of his back and pushing him forward into the door. His entire body goes still, the storm front in his mind looming even heavier.

“I think I deserve an explanation, Jefferson!” Hamilton growls, but Thomas isn’t listening. He’s focused on the tingling in his back that’s spreading through his body like his entire being is catching fire. “Get back here and explain yourself!”

Still, Thomas does not move. There’s nothing in his consciousness besides the residue of Hamilton’s attack in his skin and the feeling of being stretched taught. The sudden onslaught of anxiety takes over his senses, sharpening them to any other sign of danger.

“ _Don’t just fucking stand there!_ ” Hamilton screeches. Then there’s the sound of something slicing through air, a quiet _whoosh_ and Thomas senses rather than sees the bolt of green coming towards him.

The storm breaks.

Thomas’ mind goes blank, the rubber band inside him snaps and the bolt of magic heading towards his back stops in midair. A second later it ruptures in on itself and Hamilton lets out a noise of shocked confusion.

Thomas whirls, dark purple magic gathering on his fingertips. Hamilton’s eyes go wide as twin tendrils shoot out of Thomas so fast Hamilton doesn’t even get the chance to move his wand in defense. They both strike the man dead-on, one in the face and the other smack-dab in the chest.

Hamilton goes flying backward, hitting the closed end of the countertop with a heavy _thwack_. Thomas raises one hand, the storm of magic gathering in the air around him jumps to attention. Hamilton raises his wand again, tries to cast without speaking and the magic just sputters at the end of his wand. The already bright light around his wrists flare.

_“Ignietus Spiritictus,_ ” Hamilton says and manages to cast something this time. Thomas’ other hand twitches and Hamilton’s magic is simply negated midway to Thomas. Then Thomas’ flexes his raised hand and spears of his magic shoot out.

_“Deflectum!”_ Hamilton shouts, and his shield goes up just in time to be ripped through like it was made of paper. Thomas’ magic wraps around Hamilton’s body and, with another flick of his wrist, Hamilton is launched into the air.

Hamilton yelps, trying to move his wand hand but Thomas has him paralyzed. He’s barely seeing what he’s doing, moving on instinct and instinct alone. Thomas sends Hamilton flying backward again, this time into the glass cases of live plants.

The cases shatter and Thomas lets Hamilton fall to the floor with it. Hamilton lands face-down on the floor as shards of glass and dirt cascade and rains down on top of him. Thomas is ready to follow, sparks forming in his hands as he readies to finish it. The air crackles around Thomas as Hamilton lifts his head.

Thomas makes eye contact with Hamilton, raises his hands and Hamilton’s face is cast into stark shadows by the light gathered in Thomas’ hands. Hamilton’s eyes stretch wide, like a mouse trapped by a pack of cats. He’s terrified.

And just like that, Thomas is back in his own head.

Instantly, his magic disappears, evaporating into the air and vanishing without a trace. Hamilton’s expression sends Thomas into panic mode, a complete 180 from the emptiness from just a moment before.

Thomas stumbles backward, backpedaling out from behind the counter. _No_ , he thinks, _oh god what have I done?_ He turns around to run around the countertop and by the time he can see Hamilton again, the boy is moving, _thank God._

Relief floods through Thomas as Hamilton pushes himself onto all fours, breathing raggedly. Blood drips from his nose onto the floor, his arms shake but his fingers are still carefully closed around his wand. He must hear Thomas approach because his head snaps up and there, painted across his face is the same fear that had pulled Thomas out of his rampage.

Hamilton snaps his wand up, his hand obviously shaking, and his voice cracks as he says: “ _Serversium._ ”

Thomas doesn’t react, doesn’t do anything to stop the spell from ripping into his flesh. It cuts like knives along the front of his body. Hot lines of pain shoot across Thomas and he already feels his own blood start to spill. He only stumbles under the force of the spell before crossing the remaining distance to Hamilton and falling onto his knees in front of him.

“I am so sorry,” he breathes. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.” Hamilton stops, fear mixing now with confusion. “How bad did I hurt you?”

“Uh…”  Hamilton glances about, hand still carefully clutching his wand. Thomas tries to scan Hamilton for injuries. He’s bleeding for sure, probably burned, maybe countless internal injuries.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Thomas mutters, reaching out for Hamilton. Hamilton flinches, pulling away quickly and harshly enough that his back hits the shelf. Thomas’ hands are hung in the air between them. The silence stretches on, hanging thick with the weight of Thomas’ mistake.

The fear starts to drain from Hamilton’s face, only to be replaced with anger. Thomas pulls his hands back into his body. Neither of them speak, all that needs to be said traded through glares.

Then, slowly, Hamilton moves, pushing himself to his feet among glass shards. Thomas watches him stand, one arm clamped protectively around his stomach. He’s breathing hard his gaze intentionally averted from Thomas. Hamilton limps past him, heading down one of the aisles to where Thomas knows the healing supplies are.

Thomas turns, watching Hamilton pick his way through the shards of broken bottles and spilled potion. He finds it in him to stand, follow Hamilton like a lost puppy.

“You can stop saying that,” Hamilton grunts out. Thomas blinks, confused until he realizes he’s been muttering apologies under his breath. Instantly, Thomas falls silent, jaw clenching shut. Hamilton’s hands shake as they pluck bottles and jars from the shelves.

There’s a boiling pit of hatred curling in Thomas’ chest for himself and Hamilton must have a matching one inside him.

Hamilton looks up at Thomas, and Thomas can’t meet his gaze. His eyes drop to the floor, waiting for Hamilton to speak, to shout, to say _anything_. Instead, Hamilton slowly staggers away. Thomas waits until Hamilton limps into his closet room and the door shuts behind him before he dares move.

He looks at the glass, dirt, potions, and blood covering the floor in front of him. The loathing inside of him creeps higher, the voice in his head starts to talk. _I fucked it all up,_ Thomas thinks. _I lost control and hurt someone_. _Some ‘war hero’ I am_.

Thomas feels his throat start to close, his fists clench at his sides, and it’s not until he tries to stand that he remembers that he’s bleeding too. One of the bottles on the floor is meant to stop bleeding, and he takes it in his hand.

_I don’t deserve it,_ he thinks to himself. _I deserve to bleed. I deserve to hurt._ So he lets the bottle tumble from his fingers. He hears it crack against the tile, bouncing and spilling liquid as it rolls away.

Slowly, wincing, Thomas grabs his keys, walks to the door, flips the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’ and locks the shop. He should collect the broom, clean this up before spilled potions dry or something mixes together that shouldn't. But he can’t find it in him. Not now, not after…

Thomas stumbles to his apartment instead and fumbles around his cabinet until he finds the jars of Moonshine he keeps in the back.

\--------------

When Hamilton finally emerges from his closet around noon the next day, Thomas is face-down on the countertop, half his body hanging precariously off the edge.  The broom and dustpan lie on the floor beside him, filled with shattered glass and dirt. He needs to mop, he knows, but the last bottle of whiskey he’d had as a ‘reward’ for getting the sweeping done is hitting him hard.

Thomas can’t forget, no matter how much he drinks. He keeps replaying yesterday in his head, the look of sheer terror on Hamilton’s face getting more distorted and more grotesque the drunker he gets.

“Jefferson?” Hamilton asks. Thomas stiffens, breathing in against wine-stained wood.

“Hamilton,” he responds, but it sounds more like ‘amulon.’ Thomas doesn’t pick up his head to look, doesn’t move save the rise and fall of his chest against the counter. Hamilton doesn’t say anything, but Thomas hears him pick up the broom and dustpan.

“No!” Thomas jerks his arm out to stop Hamilton. “That’s my job. Go lie down,” he says, or at least thinks he says. Hamilton is silent for a moment, then -

“What?” he asks, voice flat. Thomas groans, deep in his throat and pushes himself off the counter. He thinks his feet are under him but a moment later he’s just on the floor, chin throbbing from the impact.

“Fuck,” he mutters, head spinning. He struggles to his hands underneath him and pushes himself onto all fours. His arms shake as he fumbles his way upright. When he’s standing - more leaning so heavily on the counter he might as well be lying there again - he looks up at Hamilton.

Hamilton looks put together, like Thomas hadn’t almost killed him this time yesterday. His hair is pulled back in a perfect, slick ponytail and there are no hints of injury. Thomas almost smiles to himself. He certainly can whip up a good healing potion or two.

He reaches for the broom handle with the hand not currently holding him up against the counter. “My job,” he says. “You rest.” His fingers close around air, and Thomas frowns. It _looks_ like his hand is in the right spot. “Need the mop anyway,” he mumbles. He tries to step forward and just pitches into Hamilton.

Hamilton drops the broom handle in order to catch him. The little guy is surprisingly strong, able to hold Thomas up despite Thomas being nothing but dead weight. Hamilton pushes Thomas back, looking at him from an arm’s length away. “Do you know what day it is?” Hamilton asks.

“June 15th,” Thomas answers without a second thought. “Thirteen days, ” he says. Hamilton’s brows furrow, eyes scanning Thomas’ face and body. His hands tighten around Thomas’ arms, feeling Thomas’ skin.

Then Hamilton’s frown tightens, his face going carefully neutral. “You don’t have alcohol poisoning,” he says and steps back. His hands disappear from Thomas’ arms and, suddenly without support, Thomas crashes to the floor with a heavy _thud_. Thomas groans, eyes level with Hamilton’s sneakers.

“I make poisons,” Thomas mutters. Hamilton just sighs. His feet disappear from view, and Thomas hears a door open and shut. Thomas isn’t sure how long he lies there on the floor, but eventually, he clambers upright again.

He’s unsteady on his feet as he stumbles to pick up the broom and dustpan. He puts them back in the corner, fighting with the broom to stay upright and resting against the wall for a moment before he staggers to Hamilton’s closet. Or tries to anyway, he makes it halfway before the world heaves and he’s back on the floor.

Oh well, it’s where he belongs anyway.

The sound of footsteps prick Thomas’ ears up, but he doesn’t move. His whole body feels heavy and non-responsive. Then the footsteps stop beside him.

“Hey, get up,” Hamilton commands. Thomas groans, curling in on himself. Hamilton lets out a heavy sigh and then there are hands pushing him upright against the wall. Thomas finds himself in a sitting position, Hamilton kneeling in front of him. His vision swirls, blurry, and Hamilton snaps two fingers in front of his face.

“Stop that,” Thomas grumbles, flailing and managing to push Hamilton’s hand away. Hamilton scowls, lip quirked in distaste, and holds an open bottle out to Thomas.

“Drink this,” Hamilton says. Thomas narrows his eyes at it, trying to focus on the clear flask.

“What is it?” He asks. Hamilton swirls the amber liquid gently.

“Wine,” he says. Thomas frowns, manages to grab it with one hand, and sniffs it. It certainly _smells_ like wine, and that’s good enough for Thomas. If it’s meant to kill him, it won’t be that much of a loss. So Thomas takes it and downs half of it in one swig.

Thomas grimaces. “Kinda shitty wine.” If Hamilton’s brought him a drink, he’ll take it. Hamilton sits back on his heels, watching Thomas carefully as Thomas looks down at the flask.

“Just drink it,” Hamilton says. Thomas is not about to argue. So he finishes it in a second gulp, feeling it bubble and burn down his throat. When he looks up at Hamilton, his vision has started to clear. The swirling edges of his mind are starting to settle down and Thomas looks back down at the now empty beaker.

“What was that?” He asks, words more clear.

“Not wine,” Hamilton says. Thomas cocks an eyebrow.

“Considering I’m able to figure that out on my own, it certainly wasn’t,” he grumbles. He sniffs the open bottle again. The only thing he can make out is a hint of prancing horse nettle, and he groans. “A neutralizer,” he says. Hamilton nods.

“Sober now, are we?” He asks. Thomas sighs, dropping the bottle.

“Getting there, more or less,” he says. The haze of booze is lifting from his mind and he hates it. Hamilton glances around his feet, brushes away a little dirt and settles onto the floor.

“We have to talk,” Hamilton says. Thomas grunts noncommittally, looking down at his two-day-old, slightly blood-stained shirt. He fiddles with the hem as Hamilton launches into a speech. “If I’m going to be comfortable being here and learning from you, I need to know what the hell -”

“Do you want to go back to Washington?” Thomas interrupts. Hamilton starts.

“Well, obviously, but that’s not happening until -”

“I’ll write him. Tell him I fell ill and can’t continue your training,” Thomas says. Hamilton’s words mesh together in a stuttering noise of surprise. “I’ll deal with the consequences.”

“You’d do that?” Hamilton asks with shock and hope in his voice. Thomas shuts his eyes and nods.

“I understand that you don’t want to be around me anymore,” Thomas says. “I don’t blame you.” Thomas rests his head against the shelf, the edge of it cutting into his skull. “Give me a minute to get up and you can go pack.”

Hamilton is suspiciously quiet. Thomas takes a breath and then leans forward to get to his feet. He’ll compose a letter, send the boy off, and then go collect some actual wine. Maybe if he drinks enough he won’t even be around to deal with Washington’s wrath.

“No,” Hamilton says. Thomas stops, kneeling on the floor. He looks up at the Hamilton, finds an expression of pure determination. “I want to stay here.”

Thomas blinks, settling back against the shelf in his surprise. “Excuse me?”

“I know what Washington’s like when he’s angry. And he’ll find out what happened and since he’s got something on you, he’ll come down on you,” Hamilton explains. Thomas’s brow furrows, and Hamilton scoffs. “I’m not an idiot, that’s the only reason someone like you would agree to apprentice me.”

Thomas’ jaw sets. “So you want to stay out of the goodness of your heart?” He asks bitterly. “What, pity the useless drunk?”

Hamilton shakes his head. “I also know you’re possibly the best herbologist this side of the Atlantic, and I don’t particularly feel like going to Europe. _And_ -” Hamilton levels his gaze at Thomas - “I want you to teach me wandless magic.”

Thomas stares for a moment, but Hamilton’s expression doesn’t change. _Oh my god, he’s serious,_ Thomas realizes, and a little chuckle escapes him. He shakes his head. “I’m not teaching you magic, kid.”

Hamilton frowns. “Stop calling me kid.” Thomas rolls his eyes, but Hamilton’s already speaking again. “And you’re not teaching me _magic,_ you’re teaching me _wandless magic_. There’s a difference, and Washington won’t let me learn it.”

“Perhaps for good reason?” Thomas asks.

“No!” Hamilton says, fists clenching against his legs. “He says I’m not ready but I am! I can already use incantationless magic when I can concentrate at least, so I’m strong enough, he just won’t trust me.”

Thomas looks at Hamilton, sees the frustration painted across the boy’s face, and snorts. “Again, perhaps for a good reason.” Hamilton opens his mouth to protest but Thomas cuts him off. “Magic is not good or fun, Hamilton. It’s dangerous, _especially_ without a wand.”

“Well obviously _you_ can control it!” Hamilton snaps back. Thomas flinches. _I was far from in control,_ he wants to snap back, but that’s the kind of answer that just invites more questions, so he bites it back. He glances down at the bracers around Hamilton’s wrists.

“I said no,” Thomas says instead. Hamilton’s nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath.

“Listen here motherfucker, I don’t know why you get off on this _mysterious loner_ schtick, but it’s starting to get really old. All I’m trying to do here is learn what you have to teach me and get the hell out. If you want to grumble and be all obstinate, you’re just making yourself miserable,” Hamilton says. Thomas’ jaw clenches, but Hamilton’s not done.

“So take that stick out of your ass, tell me what’s going on, or shut up and stop complaining. News flash, I don’t want to be here either. So why don’t you just teach me what you know so we can get out of each other’s lives, hm?”

They glare at each other, and Thomas has half a mind to just kick him out anyway. And then Hamilton opens his mouth one last time. “It’s that or face Washington when he comes asking why you almost murdered me.”

Thomas shuts his eyes, sighs and says “We’ll discuss the magic thing later.” Hamilton’s eyes light up, and Thomas realizes that Hamilton isn’t the type to forget or let Thomas forget either. “Get the mop from your closet.”


	3. Chapter 3

Hamilton ends up mopping while Thomas takes inventory of everything that’s broken, destroyed or otherwise unsellable. He has a whole section of dying fairy’s breath, and the dragon’s tongue is unsavable. So Thomas regretfully throws the dead plants into the compost out back and takes what he thinks he might be able to revive back into the greenhouse.

The moment he’s away from Hamilton, Thomas grabs the stash of rum he keeps in the greenhouse supply closet and downs about half of a bottle in one go. The familiar warmth floods Thomas’ stomach, and he lets out a sigh as the slight fog he calls home returns. He screws the lid on tight and pops into the grassland biome to steal a few leaves off a diana’s perfumer to stick in his mouth.

It’s not exactly the most subtle cover-up, but it works. Hamilton’s not dense, but maybe if Thomas keeps him distracted he won’t figure it out. He shuts his eyes, breaking the leaves with his teeth to release the scent. He breathes out, and when he opens his eyes someone is standing in the corner of his vision.

Thomas whirls, but the moment he moves the person disappears. He stares at the spot the man was, but he’s alone. He frowns. For a second, it looked like -

Thomas shakes his head. He’s too sober. Keeping the leaves carefully rolled under his tongue, Thomas returns to the shop proper.

Like usual, Thomas just catches the tail end of Hamilton’s scramble to cover up his magic use, but there’s no human way Hamilton’s finished the mopping and pulled that many burnt and ruined ingredients from the wall by hand. Thomas isn’t in the mood to say anything, so he just goes back to inspecting the rest of the live samples.

The shop doesn’t open for the day, by the time Thomas has made a list of everything he needs to do to restock the shelves the sun has long set and he tells Hamilton to be ready to do some gardening in the morning.

“You’re the one that needs to be ready, I’ve been up plucking sunburn blossoms for weeks now,” Hamilton shoots back. “I’m practically a pro.” Thomas rolls his eyes.

“I haven’t even introduced you to the carnivorous plants,” Thomas says. Hamilton flushes for a moment, but then his eyes light up in excitement.

“Bring them on.”

Thomas shakes his head, offers a goodnight and goes up the stairs to his apartment. The first thing he does is head for his kitchen and grabs the first bottle of wine he hand get his hands on. He pops the cork and forgoes a cup, choosing just to take the whole bottle into his bedroom.

He crawls into bed, sober enough tonight not to pass out on the couch or at the kitchen table or on the floor. Thomas wraps himself in his blankets, sitting up against the wall and looks down at the alarm clock on his nightstand. A lot of wizards don’t like mortal inventions, but Thomas uses a few. At least with an electronic clock - one that also blinks the day’s date up at Thomas - he doesn’t have to worry about a drunken version of him screwing up a magic clock.

He watches the time countdown to midnight, taking slow swigs from his bottle every few minutes. Thomas sees the display flick from 11:59, June 15th to 12:00, June 16th. Thomas tries not to think about it, tries to roll over and go to bed. _Twelve days_.

Thomas downs the rest of the bottle in one go, tosses it across the room, and buries himself in his blankets.

\--------------

“Fucker,” Hamilton mutters under his breath, one hand buried deep in a patch of fisherman’s vines. Thomas glances over, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Hamilton, face screwed up in concentration, mutters obscenities and threats while he roots around among the leaves and vines. He’s sweat-streaked, coated in dirt, in nothing but a white tank top.

Thomas pauses in his repotting, watching Hamilton struggle for a moment. “Did you get a teething one?” Hamilton’s returning glare is all the answer Thomas needs. “You’re the one who asked for the man-eaters.”

“You said none of them should have teeth yet!” Hamilton protests. Thomas rolls his eyes.

“Trap him and I’ll see if they’re ready for extraction,” Thomas says, pulling another tropical flower from the soil. The ‘tongue’ of the flower spills out from the blossom, revealing the seeds inside, and Thomas makes sure to count down from thirty as he quickly transfers the plant to a display case. He gets it in the soil before he hits 15, and watches the dragon’s tongue roll back into the base of the green flower.

“Got you!” Hamilton pulls out what looks like a section of dark green netting dripping with honey-colored liquid. Hamilton plants it on the edge of the table, grinning in victory. Thomas abandons his own project, stands next to Alexander and peers down at the plant netting. He can see the tips of teeth poking out of the thickest parts. He frowns, then reaches down and grabs a ribbon from the drawer under the vines.

“Just be careful scraping the gel around those teeth.” Thomas ties a white ribbon around the base of the net. “Don’t damage them.” Hamilton nods his understanding and Thomas watches him expertly run the spatula down the netting, letting the glue-like paste gather in a small jar. It never ceases to amaze Thomas how quickly Hamilton picks up new skills.

It might be the man’s only redeeming quality.

“That’s the last one,” Hamilton says, snapping Thomas’ out of his thoughts. Hamilton lets the net go and it snaps back into the recesses of the vines.

“Come help with the dragon’s tongues then,” Thomas says. Hamilton follows him back across the rainforest greenhouse to where Thomas had been working. Thomas doesn’t even speak when he goes to uproot a plant. Hamilton knows how to safely repot something, and his eyes are sharp, taking in everything Thomas is doing.

“You have thirty seconds to replant,” Thomas explains, sliding one hand under the plant and getting ready to pull. The moment Thomas pulls it from the ground, the tongue comes rolling out of the flower. Hamilton gasps beside him as Thomas swings around and plunges the sprig into the new case.

“That’s so cool,” Hamilton says, watching the tongue roll back up.

“Defense mechanism,” Thomas explains. “To protect the seeds inside.” Hamilton’s eyes shine in awe, and when he pulls his own flower Thomas watches him almost keep it out of soil for too long just examining the seed packets on the petal. Thomas frowns, there are more impressive plants in his greenhouse, but there Hamilton was. Watching the petals move like a child seeing it for the first time.

Well, if Hamilton enjoys it, let him do it. Thomas leaves him to the work, with instructions to pluck half the current plants and bring them to the shop front. He turns to leave but stops.

The man is back again, just in the corner of his eye. Thomas takes a breath and snaps his head to get a look. But once again, the man is gone when he looks. Thomas’ eyes narrow as he stares at the empty floor. It’s too early for it to be happening, but here he was, jumping at shadows.

“Everything okay?” Hamilton asks, glancing Thomas up and down. Thomas nods silently and throws open the glass door.

On his way out, Thomas takes his customary swig from the rum bottle, checking to make sure Hamilton’s back is turned. He’s out in the hallway, about to head into the alchemy lab when he hears the bell to the shop open. Thomas stifles a groan. But when he pokes his head out, all traces of irritation - towards the customer at least - vanish.

Thomas turns his attention to the woman examining the shelves of dry ingredients. “Maryam,” Thomas says, greeting the young zoologist. Her sari jingles as she turns to look at him.

“Your shelves are sparse, Thomas,” she observes. Thomas frowns.

“We had a… altercation in here about a week ago,” Thomas says by way of explanation. Maryam frowns in concern.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, nothing to worry about,” Thomas says. “I just have to do some restocking.” Maryam still looks as if she has something to say, but the ends of her hair shift, closing in around her neck. Thomas cocks an eyebrow, and Maryam runs a comforting hand through her locks.

“Please tell me you’re not here for more Brew?” Thomas asks. Maryam shakes her head and relief floods his body.

“Everything’s fine at the ranch,” she says.

“So what can I do for you?” He asks. Maryam smiles and reaches into the pack on her shoulder. Realization hits Thomas. “Oh, no, I -”

“Take it Thomas,” Maryam says, pulling two large Tupperware containers from the sack. “You need it.”

“I don’t,” Thomas protests, but Maryam is already at the counter and pushing them to him.

“You’re not going to cook the next few days, am I right?” Maryam asks. Thomas frowns, lip curling. “It’s my mom’s curry.”

_Damn this woman and her food._ Thomas scowls but takes the containers anyway. Maryam laughs, her hair twittering.

“Don’t feel bad, no one can resist,” Maryam teases. Thomas rolls his eyes but holds the food to his body. “Pouting isn't a good look on you Thomas.”

“Did you want to buy anything or what?” Thomas asks, but there’s no ice in his words. Maryam shakes her head, and her loose locks rattle. There’s a complaining clicking from inside, and Maryam turns her head to look down her shoulder.

“Oh, calm down love,” she says. The nagi inside her hair flicks it’s tongue and slides across the front of her neck to coil on the other side of her hair.

“Is that...?” Thomas asks. Maryam nods, and then reaches inside her hair. She coos gently to the nagi until it lets her hold out its head to Thomas. Slowly, feeling the creature’s red eyes trained on him, Thomas reaches out to hold his hand by the nagi’s face. The nagi’s tongue flicks out, smelling Thomas, and then its head moves to rub against Thomas’ hand on its own.

“Vivaan remembers you,” Maryam says. Thomas feels a slight smile crawl across his face as he gently runs his fingertips down Vivaan’s scales. It vibrates against his hand and Thomas chuckles.

“How are you, you little devil?” Thomas asks. As if in response, Vivaan’s tongue flicks out, tickling the side of Thomas’ hand. Maryam opens her mouth to speak, but the sound of the back door opening cuts her off. Hamilton comes marching into the shop, arms around the new display of dragon tongues.

“Where do you want this?” Hamilton grunts. Thomas motions to the counter beside him, still entranced by the exotic dragon in front of him. Hamilton sighs, setting down the case with a thud. Vivaan shudders under Thomas’ fingers but stays out.

“Alright, there’s fourteen - _holy shit!_ ” Hamilton screams, making the other two jump. Instantly Vivaan disappears back into Maryam’s hair, squirming and writhing under dark locks. Hamilton stares, wide-eyed at Maryam’s pulsing hair. “That’s a fucking _nagi!_ ”

“Yes, Hamilton,” Thomas sighs, feeling his face instantly fall. Maryam glares daggers at Hamilton, hands flying up to her hair to try and calm her frightened pet.

“She’s got an illegal dragon in her hair!” Hamilton exclaims, and Maryam steps away, shoulders rising defensively.

“Stop screaming, you’ll scare it,” Thomas says, voice flat. Hamilton looks at him bewilderingly.

“ _That’s_ your only concern?!” Hamilton asks. Thomas rolls his eyes.

“What did I just say?” Thomas snaps. Hamilton just stares at him for a moment, then shakes his head.

“Goddamnit,” Hamilton mutters, stomping off to the back door. “Motherfucker has dragons and shit in his shop? Just spring a fucking hippogriff on me next time.” His grumbling is lost as he disappears into the back. Thomas sighs, and looks over at Maryam.

“I have had an apprentice forced upon me,” he says. Maryam, hands by her head to stroke Vivaan, looks at him. “He won’t report you.”

“ _Forced_?” Maryam asks. Thomas nods.

“Repaying a debt,” he explains. Maryam glances at the door Hamilton disappeared behind. “We don’t get along.”

“Clearly.”

Thomas drums his fingers along the Tupperware lids. “Thank you,” he says. “For the food.”

“No problem,” she says. She manages to pull a portion of Vivaan’s body from her hair, only to frown at the way it’s trembling. “I have to take this guy home.”

“Take care,” Thomas says by way of goodbye. He doesn’t wait until Maryam is out of the shop before he slips into the back. _How do I convince Hamilton not to blab about Vivaan?_ He wonders, one hand on the greenhouse door. Before he goes in, Hamilton bursts from the alchemy lab. Thomas turns, lecture on his lips.

“Hamilton - “

“Why are you just letting a woman with a highly dangerous animal hang out in the store?” Hamilton asks. Thomas sighs.

“Maryam is a friend - “

“And Nagi’s are Class 1 illegal animals in the US!”

“I know,” Thomas says. “I’m the one who smuggled in it for her.”

Hamilton blinks, mouth hanging open. Thomas waits for a rant, daring Hamilton to say anything with a glare. Instead, Hamilton just shakes his head.

“You’re out of blood clotters in the lab,” Hamilton says. For the first time, Thomas sees the small drop of blood running down one of Hamilton’s arms.

“Check the shelves,” Thomas says. Hamilton scowls.

“That’s what I was going to do, asshole,” he snaps. Hamilton throws open the door to the front and stalks away. Thomas lets out another sigh, then climbs the stairs to his apartment. He shoves Maryam’s gift into the fridge and reaches for a half-finished bottle of vodka. Just as he takes a swig, he hears something. Voices, arising from the speaker on his kitchen counter.

“Oh, didn’t know you were still here,” Hamilton says, voice a little muffled.

“Yes,” Maryam hisses back. They’re silent for a moment, Thomas downs a mouthful of drink, and as he turns to go he hears: “Make sure he eats the next two days.”

“Huh?” Hamilton responds, closer.

“He doesn’t eat around this time, make _sure_ he does. If something happens to him, know I have a very large paddock of carnivorous pegasi.” Maryam’s voice grows more distant as she, presumably, heads toward the shop door.

“Wait!” Hamilton calls. “Do you know…”

“Know what?”

“Why he… he’s such an asshole?” Hamilton asks. Thomas snorts. _How eloquent_. Maryam doesn’t speak but must make some motion because Hamilton continues. “No idea at all?”

“All I know is he doesn’t eat when he gets bad and he gets bad in late June. It’s starting early this year, I can tell.”

“Bad?” Hamilton asks. “What do you mean ‘bad?’ No wait, come back dragon lady! I’m sorry about… scaring your… pet…” then a muttered ‘fuck’ comes through.

Thomas puts the vodka bottle on the counter, much harder than he had intended. Maryam didn’t need to be _babying_ him. Thomas could take care of himself! “I can handle it,” he mutters. “I’m _fine_.”

The man that has been hovering just outside of Thomas’ vision all day sighs. Thomas ignores him. If Thomas turned to look, the man would just disappear again.

\--------------

A shambling man comes into the shop a few days after Maryam. He’s in a huge, pocketed coat, his hair looks unwashed. He doesn’t respond to Thomas’ greeting but scans the potion shelves for a bit with dead-looking eyes. He’s in the shop for almost twenty minutes before Hamilton slides up to him.

“Can I help you, sir?” He asks. The man just grunts and waves him away. Hamilton shoots Thomas a look and comes up to the counter. “Do you know who that is?”

Thomas looks over, shakes his head, and goes back to his record book. Hamilton glances over at the man again and then goes to mess with the live samples. Or at least he pretends he does, Thomas can tell all of Hamilton’s focus is on the customer. Hamilton keeps his post even as the strange man shuffles around the store for another few minutes.

When Thomas looks up to ask Hamilton to go grab something from the lab, he spots the customer staring at him. “Mr. Jefferson?” The man asks. Thomas nods.

“How can I help you?”

The man glances at Hamilton, and then back at Thomas. He comes to a decision and walks up to the counter. “So, uh, I need something, and a friend of mine told me you were the best place to get it.”

Thomas pauses, closes his book and settles into his seat. “Depends on what it is.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hamilton stiffen, obviously paying attention. The man hesitates, steels himself and says:

“I need something to make memories go away.”

Thomas’ brow furrows. “I might be able to help.” The customer's eyes light up, his hands grip the counter.

“Please, whatever the cost, I can pay.” The man looks at Thomas with such desperation in his eyes, a desperation Thomas has seen and knows all too well.

“Who is it for?” Thomas asks. The man’s jaw sets and Thomas explains: “There are certain questions I’m required to ask.”

The man sighs. “Myself.” Thomas nods and reaches below the countertop.

“Certainly makes it easier,” Thomas says. He pulls out a piece of paper and a pen and passes it across the counter. It’s one of his premade forms, a formality to protect him from angry customers. “I need you to fill this out for me. Just that you understand what you’re asking for and that you are taking this willingly.” The man nods, picking up the pen and Thomas tells him what to write where.

“What’s the point of forgetting if I’m writing it down where I can read it?” The man asks, scratching in his signature. Thomas presses his lips into a thin line.

“It’s just for my protection,” he says. “I keep it in case you or someone else comes asking.”

The man stops and thinks for a moment. “Makes sense,” he eventually says. He finishes dating the bottom of the paper and passes it back. Without looking at what’s on the paper, Thomas folds it in half and sticks it into his sales book. He’ll file it properly later.

“Person, place, thing, or event?” Thomas asks.

“Person,” the man responds.

“Do you… “ Thomas trails as the man reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out a small bag. Inside, the man shows Thomas a lock of sandy brown hair. “You know what you’re doing,” Thomas remarks. The man nods.

“I want this done and over with,” he says. Thomas holds out his hand for the bag and the man willingly hands it over.

“Come on back then,” Thomas says, opening the door to the back. Hamilton looks at him, curiosity and longing painted across his face. Thomas pauses as the man passes him. “Do you mind if my apprentice watches?”

The man looks over at Hamilton for a second, then shakes his head. “I don’t care.” Hamilton takes his cue, rushing over to the open door and following the man though. Thomas watches as Hamilton ushers the man into the alchemy lab.

“Do you have a reversal plan?” Thomas asks. The man nods.

“My sister’s a telepath,” he says. Hamilton’s eyebrows furrow, but before he can ask his question Thomas answers it.

“Amnesiacs don’t destroy memories, just suppress them.” Thomas walks over to the far shelf and reaches up to the locked cabinet. He puts a hand on the glass, and instantly the glass glows a dull purple. Thomas passes his hand through and grabs the green bottle. He pulls it out and the glass solidifies the moment he breaks contact with it. “How long have you known this person, rounded up to the year?”

“Thirty-three years,” the man says. Thomas nods, places both the potion and the bag of hair on the table and grabs a beaker. He takes the amnesiac and carefully measures out barely half a cup into the glass beaker. Then he carefully dumps the lock of hair into the liquid. Instantly, the potion bubbles, eating away at the hair until it’s fully dissolved. Thomas swirls it while he reaches under the table for a drinking glass.

He pours the potion into the cup and looks over at the man. “That’ll be two-fifty gold pieces,” Thomas says. The man nods and searches his coat.

“Figured it’d be more,” he says. Thomas shrugs.

“Just cover the production costs and we’re even,” he explains. “If you’re looking to erase someone you’ve got to be desperate.”

The man snorts, an empty sound. “You’ve got that right.” He pulls another sack from his coat of pockets and counts out the cost. He drops the gold onto the table, Thomas does a quick recount and hands the glass over. The man looks down at the opaque, silvery liquid.

“Goodbye Percy,” he says, and downs it all in one gulp. Hamilton watches from the corner, eyes glimmering but unreadable. Thomas looks at the empty glass with a small amount of jealousy. _What I wouldn’t do to forget_ , he muses. But as the man’s face contorts in discomfort, Thomas knows he wouldn’t ever do that, _couldn’t._

The customer’s face blanks, and then he blinks his eyes back into focus. Thomas paints a smile on his face. “So,” Thomas asks. “How do you feel?”

The man frowns. “Fine,” he says, and then looks down at the cup. “What was that?”

“A healing potion, remember?” Thomas says. “You hit your head pretty bad on a railing.”

The man nods, slowly. “Right, yeah. It doesn’t hurt now.”

“Good,” Thomas grins. “It worked then.”

“I guess so,” the man smiles back. This is Thomas’ least favorite part, but this man doesn’t seem to want to stick around, and Thomas sees him off with a smile and a wave. He leaves with a might brighter disposition than he had entered the shop with, and a personal promise to go home and shower. Thomas watches him walk down the sidewalk with a spring in his step.

“Why’d you lie to him?” Hamilton asks. “Right at the end there?”

“Because if you tell them they just downed an amnesiac they start asking why,” Thomas says, filing away the man’s contract with the other amnesiac sales. “Could end up completely negating the whole thing.”

Hamilton nods. “Right.” There’s a pause, a moment of silence between them. “I wonder who Percy was.” Thomas shrugs.

“Not for us to know,” Thomas replies. “Go finish sweeping.”

\--------------

Thomas cracks his eyes open the one day- _seven days_ \- to a hangover. He clears it with a couple of shots and a swig of whiskey, returning his usual, buzzed state. So what if it’s a little heavier than usual. So what if he immediately reaches for the greenhouse rum the moment he gets downstairs. He’s fine, he’s _handling_ it.

“I’m doing just fine,” Thomas grumbles, taking one last swig of rum before reluctantly putting it away. He shuts the door, turns around and leans against it, looking out over the greenhouse. Hamilton is just finishing up the sunburn blossoms - the budding season is almost over for them anyway so each morning’s harvest is getting smaller. Thomas shuts his eyes, breathes in the earthy scent -

The heavy thud of a glass door shutting makes Thomas jump, his eyes fly open. It takes him a second to register what it was, sees Hamilton juggling a basket in his arms as he makes his way towards Thomas. Heart pounding in his ears, Thomas forces himself to try and calm down. Hamilton shoots him an odd look, and Thomas just scowls.

When Hamilton hits the corner and turns in front of Thomas, heading to the left and to the door. As Hamilton moves out of Thomas’ sight, Thomas catches a glimpse of the hovering man down the greenhouse, and for the first time, he gets a full look. He leans off the door, but the world lurches around him and his step forward turns into a stumble. He’s forced to bend over to catch himself.

“You okay?” Hamilton asks. Thomas looks up, the man is gone.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”


	4. Chapter 4

Thomas is shelving recently finished potions when Hamilton trips over his own feet and goes careening into one of the free-standing shelves. He hears the impact from the alchemy lab, and he rushes out into the shop proper. He throws open the door to find the shelf tipped halfway over, hovering in the air and glowing a deep forest green.

Hamilton is rubbing his side, likely where he hit the shelf, one hand closed around his wand. The air feels humid with magic, the static energy making Thomas’ hair stand on end. Hamilton looks up and grimaces.

“I know you said no magic but come on!” Hamilton says, already arguing his case. Thomas tries to breathe, tries to tear his eyes away from the gentle glow. “What was I supposed to do, let it fall?”

“Drop it before someone sees,” Thomas says. Hamilton blinks.

“What?” He asks. Thomas shuts his eyes. No one’s looking for them, they’re in his shop.

“Never mind, just right it.” Thomas shakes his head and fights the desire to full out flee. When he shuts himself back into the lab, he rubs his face. He needs to stop this, He’s fine, he can handle it. His whole body is shaking and there’s a part of his brain saying that he’s in danger, but Thomas just clenches his jaw and shoves it away.

When Thomas pulls his hands away from his face, they’re covered in blood. He blinks and it’s gone.

\-------------

Thomas wakes in a cold sweat and a scream on his lips. His sheets are tangled around his body, and when he glances over at the clock it’s only 2 in the morning, June 22nd. Thomas extracts himself from his blankets, sits up on the edge of his bed and digs in his bedside drawer for the wine he keeps for this exact situation. Normally a few swigs are enough to knock him back out but soon it’s 3 o’clock and Thomas is terrified to go back to sleep.

So he stands, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, and stumbles downstairs. He can spend a bit of time going over poison sales, and then Hamilton will get up and they’ll open the shop. Thomas grabs the sale record book and starts down the poison aisle. He slowly counts how much of each they have, comparing it to the start of the day and number sold.

Thomas’ hands shake as he digs through the shelf; he can hardly keep his bottle of wine steady enough so as not to spill all over himself. The clinking of jars and bottles echo loudly in the dark shop and Thomas winces each time they make a sound.

“Jefferson?” A quiet voice jolts Thomas out of his head. Thomas snaps his head to find Hamilton, in his boxers and a nightshirt, standing at the end of the aisle. His hand is gripping his wand, and Thomas can see where he’s charmed himself to see in the dark. “What are you doing up?”

Thomas stuffs his hands into his robes. “I could ask you the same thing,” he grunts out.

“I thought someone broke in,” Hamilton says. His eyes narrow as he takes in Thomas’ disheveled state. “Are you good?”

“Just getting some work done,” Thomas snaps. “Go back to bed.” Hamilton looks as if he wants to ask more, but he just sighs and pads back to his closet. Thomas lets out a breath, pulling his hands back out and examining the way they glisten in the dim moonlight from the window.

He’s beyond grateful Hamilton didn’t see the blood.

\-------------

Thomas keeps moving all day, trying to keep his vision focused in front of him. The man in the corner of his vision is getting closer, the only thing he can see that’s clear. Thomas doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to see him, but he’s always there. In flashes, as he turns or waiting just beyond his line of sight.

There are two pens on the table in front of him, sitting just beside each other but that’s okay because Thomas has two hands, good to write two lines of script on two pieces of paper. The more he drinks, the farther apart the two images become.

None of the customers notice the creeping bloodstains on Thomas’ clothes, or if they do, no one says anything. They all know. They all know what he did. Even Hamilton, with the worried, questioning side-glances must know. There are two of him too.

\-------------

Thomas can’t force himself to bed that night. His entire body is heavy and he’s exhausted, but he can’t face it. So he tucks a full bottle of vodka under his arm and does inventory for the entire store, back room and all. When Hamilton wakes up, Thomas hands him the keys wordlessly and plants himself on the stool behind the counter. He watches dual Hamiltons unlock dual doors.

Hamilton drops the keys in the usual spot, and eyes the bottle on the counter next to Thomas. “How often do you drink?” He asks. Thomas doesn’t respond, just nips at the bottle. Hamilton frowns and reaches out to pluck it from Thomas’ hand.

Thomas recoils, holding the bottle tightly and glaring. “None of your business,” he says, words slurred. Hamilton scowls and marches off into the back. Thomas cradles the bottle, chin on the open mouth.

He’s so tired. He feels his eyes slide shut of their own accord, his body stilling. His mind rebels, he _can’t_ sleep, but his body is falling, slipping -

A flash of orange light makes his eyes fly open, his body jerking totally awake. Children play on the street outside the shop, casting purposeless bolts of light at each other. Thomas flinches one child is hit with a spark of red and pretends to die; she grabs her chest and dramatically flings herself onto the ground.

They’re playing soldiers, and Thomas finds he can’t watch.

\-------------                                                                                    

_The world is ending._

_Thomas stands, surrounded by rubble, as spells fly around him. People move and writhe around him; wizards and witches locked in duels and battles. A streak of light green soars just in front of his face, but he’s frozen still. He thought it was over. He thought he’d gotten out._

_People scream, incantations and howls of pain both. A woman’s shriek cuts off suddenly, Thomas watches her lifeless body fall from an open window. The sight of her face - half destroyed with burnt flesh - sends Thomas scrambling backward. Spells fly over his head as he flees, backpedaling, and eyes stuck on the dead soldier’s face._

_He runs into someone, a faceless man wearing the same blue Thomas is. He stumbles under Thomas’ weight, turns to say something but a spell hit him from behind and he topples over. Thomas doesn’t have to look to see that he’s dead. The witch responsible looks down her wand at him, and he freezes like a deer in headlights._

_He sees her mouth open, everything’s so loud he can’t even hear her despite only being ten feet away. He doesn’t have his wand, he can’t use magic, not again, not like this -_

_There’s a flash of white in the corner of Thomas’ vision and suddenly the British witch goes flying. Her body hits the wall of a building and she bounces to the ground. It rolls limply and her wand is nowhere to be seen._

_“Thomas!” James calls, and Thomas snaps his head to where the white had come from. James marches across the rubble to where Thomas is standing, wiping soot from his forehead. “There you are, Washington wants us on the east front.”_

_Thomas shakes his head. “No, I’m not-  I’m not going up there,” he says. James frowns._

_“Six conjurers,” James says. The wall above his head explodes in a shower of magenta and James blocks the rubble from hitting them with a flick of his hand. Thomas grabs onto James’ shoulders._

_“James, we can’t,” Thomas says. “We go up there, you die!”_

_James rolls his eyes. “War isn’t a competition, Thomas.”_

_“No, you’re not listening!” Thomas’ fingers dig into James’ arms. “You’re going to die. I saw it, Jemmy!”_

_“Fine.” James smiles. “The first one to four wins drinks from the others.” James pulls out of Thomas’ grip as if Thomas wasn’t holding him at all._

_“No, James!” Thomas calls, but James is already stalking across the ruined city streets. He moves confidently through the chaos, sparkling white magic flowing from his hands and keeping him safe. Thomas hesitates, then takes off after him. Maybe this time, he can save him, he can stop it._

_“I’ll get five before you knock out the first one,” James says as Thomas draws even with him. Thomas grits his jaw, glancing about the ruined street_

_“James, please. We need to go,” he pleads. James laughs, redirecting a bolt of red that had been soaring for them_

_“Oh sure, try all six on your own. See what happens,” James teases. Thomas’ heart catches in his throat as James turns to grin at him. The same color of red James had just deflected wells up behind James’ head, just where Thomas can see._

_“James! - “_

\--------------

Thomas wakes up screaming, James’ name tearing its way out of his throat like an inhuman curse. He flails, hitting the shop floor like a sack of bricks. The stool crashes down behind him and Thomas’ elbow hits the shelves. A wave of pain rocks his arm and Thomas whimpers.

“Jefferson?!” Hamilton calls, running footsteps coming closer. Thomas curls on himself, cradling his arm. “What the hell happened?”

Thomas looks up, finds Hamilton standing at the open end of the counter, breathing hard. Thomas blinks, finally realizing where he’s at. He must have fallen asleep at the counter. He remembers the afternoon light streaming in from the window, children playing outside -

Thomas scowls. “Leave me alone,” he says through gritted teeth. “Fuck you for letting me sleep.” Hamilton frowns, glaring down at Thomas.

“Well, you needed it!” Hamilton shoots back.

“It was the last thing I needed.”

“You’ve been up for who knows how long, and you fell asleep on a _counter_ , so yeah. You did.” Thomas growls, and Hamilton rolls his eyes. “You know what? Fuck you. I’m going to bed. The next time you wake me up it better be for something good.”

Hamilton stomps away, leaving Thomas on the floor, clutching his arm. The pain has faded, but Thomas doesn’t move. He stays there until Hamilton slams his closet door shut, and then he slowly picks himself up off the floor. Thomas goes upstairs to collect a bottle of wine then comes back down to start work on pulling the teeth out of fisherman’s vine nets.

When he wakes up, Hamilton avoids Thomas all day. Thomas doesn’t mind. He’d rather the shop be silent. He focuses on what mundane tasks he can do, ordering Hamilton to tend to any customers.

The bottle of rum in the greenhouse is empty by noon.

\--------------

Thomas has been told his sleep-aids are very effective. He wouldn’t know, he’s never tried them, and he’s not going to. Especially not tonight. Not after last night. Instead, he pulls his hair back and tries to make more healing salves. They’re a guaranteed sell, Thomas always feels like he’s trying to play catch-up to demand.

But his hands are shaking too hard, he just ends up making a mess. There’s crushed fairy’s breath everywhere and Thomas decides it’s not even worth it to try and keep going. He cleans up his own mess, not even trying to sweep up the blood on the floor.

The blood on the floor?

Thomas looks down at the streaks of red on the ground, seemingly fresh. They form a trail, winding across the alchemy lab away from Thomas’ table. Thomas follows the path with his eyes, clutching the broom tightly. They lead into a corner, the one opposite the door, and stop just before the shelves.

They don’t reach the shelves because they end at a pair of feet in combat boots.

Thomas pulls the broom closer to him as if it would give him support as his eyes travel upwards. A bloodied, torn uniform and a familiar short frame means Thomas doesn’t even have to guess who it is before he reaches James’ face.

James stands there, face covered in blood, his hair matted with it. Dark eyes pierce into Thomas and Thomas just stares back. Thomas opens his mouth to speak, to scream, to _breathe_ but he can’t. Bottom lip trembling, it takes a few moments before Thomas is even able to draw in a shaking breath.

Thomas has no idea how long he stands there, pinned by James’ empty eyes, clutching the broom handle like a lifeline. He blinks and James is still there. Thomas feels like he’s been paralyzed, he can’t move, can’t look away.

The door opening catches Thomas off guard. It slams open and Thomas jumps. Hamilton comes in, holding an empty basket in his hands. He looks at Thomas, completely oblivious.

“There you are,” Hamilton says. “I’m opening the store.” Thomas just nods, eyes still focused on where James is, just over Hamilton’s shoulder. Hamilton frowns and looks over to the corner. “What are you looking at?” He asks, one hand planted on his hip.

“Nothing,” Thomas says, his throat dry. He just manages to peel his gaze away from James and meets Hamilton’s own questioning gaze. Hamilton looks like he wants to say something, start asking questions, but then he just sighs and grabs the bottles he came in here for.

James doesn’t look at Hamilton, not even as Hamilton passing right in front of him, reaches past his face for something. James is just staring at Thomas.

“Come on, I need you to unlock the poison cabinet,” Hamilton says. Thomas nods and follows Hamilton out of the alchemy lab on shaky feet. He can feel James’ eyes bore into him as he leaves, even through the door as it swings shut.

James doesn’t reappear for a few hours, but when he does he’s staring in through the front window. Thomas tries not to look, but his eyes keep finding their way back. Hamilton is starting to look at him oddly, and once Thomas catches Hamilton outside, examining the spot where James is standing.

James follows Thomas wherever he goes, even finding a spot within the greenhouse to watch Thomas from. He’s halfway through pulling the salmon weeds from their tanks when he turns to find James standing on the other side of the freshwater marine house. Thomas nearly drops what he’s managed to collect in shaky hands.

“Go away,” Thomas manages to croak out. James doesn’t respond. “Please, leave me alone.” James doesn’t even blink. Thomas takes a breath, shuts his eyes and walks away. When he turns around to shut the door behind him, he sees Hamilton still standing in the freshwater house, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

Thomas instantly snaps his head away, storming off to the front of the store. He glances back once at the greenhouse door. Hamilton is looking at the spot James is, hand already curled around his wand. Thomas watches him raise it, the green light already gathering on the tip and he leaves, slamming the door behind him.

Thomas plants himself on his stool and brings out his sales book. He can’t look at James if he’s nose-deep in records. But the words and numbers dance and blur in front of his eyes. His hand scrabbles below the counter and finds only one remaining bottle of whiskey there. Or at least, he thinks it’s whiskey before the harsh burn of vodka proves him otherwise. Thomas doesn’t care, it’s all the same.

He looks up when he hears Hamilton clear his throat. The other man is holding an envelope in his hands, looking at Thomas with barely-concealed worry and fear. His eyes are wide, and he swallows before he speaks.

“I’m running down to the post office,” Hamilton announces. Thomas nods, just barely able to make out the letters W-A-S-H on the outside of his envelope before Hamilton takes off. He’s out the store and down the street in a moment. It’s none of Thomas’ business, and he’s got more important things to worry about - like James’ stony expression peering in through the window.


	5. Chapter 5

Sometime before midnight, after Hamilton’s returned, retreated into his closet and gone to bed, Thomas runs out of vodka. So he leaves the packages of dry ingredients he was shelving to trudge up the stairs to his apartment. When he reaches the top, his entire body feels like it’s ready to give out. He’s shaking and Thomas has to stop to sit for a moment at his kitchen table.

His head is swimming, the dull ache behind his eyes suddenly all he can think about. Thomas shuts his eyes, rubbing his face with his hands. He sits there for a moment, cradling his face in his hands. He’s so tired, but he’s scared to sleep. He doesn’t even want to open his eyes and find out what corner of his apartment James has chosen to take up residence in.

Thomas lets out a shaking breath. _James_. Fuck. He can feel tears start to well behind his hands, the shaking in his body doing him no favors as he fights to keep them away. Thomas just wants to be left alone, left alone by James, by Hamilton, by his own head. After six years, all he wants to be is alone and he _can’t be_.

Thomas doesn’t let himself cry. He leans over the table, buries his face in his arms and decides not to move until he’s collected again.

\--------------

_The fog is so thick Thomas can barely see his own hands in front of his face. It burns his lungs as he breathes, stings his eyes as he tries to peer through it. It is dead silent, so silent Thomas thinks he’s gone deaf. He turns in place, looking for a break in the fog, a light,_ anything _to tell him where he is or where to go. All he succeeds in doing is disorienting himself. He has no idea what direction he was originally facing anymore. It’s all just heavy, gray fog._

_Thomas decides that moving is better than nothing, so he chooses a direction at random and strikes out. His footsteps make no sound, the fog around him doesn’t change, and Thomas starts to worry he’s not moving at all. He starts to run, struggling to get anywhere in this gray hellscape -_

_“Thomas?”_

_The sound of his own name, said in the form of a trembling question, makes Thomas stop. His head snaps around, looking for a clue as to what direction it came from._

_“Thomas?” It comes again, and Thomas recognizes the voice. His eyes widen, his heartbeat picks up as he spins, desperately looking for -_

_“James?” Thomas calls back._

_“Thomas?”_

_Thomas picks a direction again and goes for it. The fog pushes against him slightly, fighting his movement. “James, keep talking!”_

_“Thomas?” James sounds absolutely pitiful, pleading, scared. Thomas gasps for air, trying to tell if he’s getting further or closer away. “Thomas?”_

_“I’m here James,” Thomas calls. The fog gets thicker, or at least it feels like it goes. It feels like Thomas is trying to move through water, the pressure on his body mounting. “James, help me find you!”_

_James just repeats the same call, Thomas’ name, and Thomas starts to grow even more panicked. He pleads for James to say anything else, tell him where to go,_ something _. With each word he speaks, the air thickens around him._

_“Thomas?”_

_“I’m coming James,” Thomas calls. James’ voice is coming from all around him and Thomas can’t pinpoint it in the fog. The air around him feels like molasses. It clings to him, sticks inside his lungs and Thomas has to fight to move. “James, please. Where are you?”_

_“Thomas?”_

_“Where are you?!” Thomas calls. It’s getting hard to move, his arms feel like they’re tied down to his sides and each step is a struggle. “James!”_

_“Thomas?” James calls back again. Thomas feels tears starting to well._

_“James,” he whimpers, desperate. He can’t move anymore, his body feels frozen. The fog swirls around him and he’s trapped. James calls his name, over and over again, and Thomas can’t even open his mouth to respond anymore._

_The tears start streaming down his cheeks as Thomas stands there, helpless, as James calls, pleads, begs for him. He can’t move, he can’t do anything, even as James’ voice starts to grow weak. A sob gets caught in his throat as James’ voice falters._

_“Thom…-”_

\--------------

Thomas jerks awake, tears rolling down his face and falling onto his kitchen counter. _Damn it,_ he thinks. _God fucking damn it_. His hand clenches against the table, and he tries to stop crying. His kitchen window tells him it’s still dark, he must not have slept long. Thomas sits up, wipes the tears from his eyes and tries to calm his breathing down -

_“Thomas?”_

Thomas lets out a sob. “No,” he moans. “I can’t. Don’t do this to me.” He rests his head on the back of the chair, screws eyes shut and waits. Waits to see if James is that hell bent on torturing him -

_“Thomas?”_

Thomas whimpers. Is this his life now, seeing and hearing his dead best friend? It hasn’t been _this_ bad for a couple of years. Thomas manages to stand, stumble into his bedroom and pull out the nightmare wine. He glances at the clock - 3 am on the 26th - swallows a few mouthfuls before he turns to head out of his apartment. Thomas staggers down the stairs, bottle gripped in one hand, and goes for the alchemy lab.

A quiet sound and a faint glow under the door to the store proper catches Thomas’ attention. He almost leaves it be, but he’s barely thinking so the light pulls him towards the door. Thomas steadies himself, takes one last swig of wine, and throws open the door to the storefront.

“Fuck!” Hamilton shouts, stumbling backward and tripping over his own feet. He hits the ground flat on his back, just missing a couple of illuminated crystals on the ground. Thomas blinks, falling back into the doorframe in shock. He looks down at his startled apprentice, who is just managing to sit up.

“Hamilton?” Thomas asks but even to him it sounds near unintelligible. Hamilton looks up at him through whips of loose hair and lets out a breath.

“Jefferson,” he breathes. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“What are you doing up?” Thomas slurs. Hamilton cocks one eyebrow, still breathing heavily.

“What the hell did you just say?” Hamilton asks, shaking his head slightly. Thomas just lets out a noise halfway between a sigh and a groan. He can see now that Hamilton’s got his wand in one hand and one of the lit crystals in his hand. Ghost hunting, the boy is _ghost hunting_. Thomas almost laughs. Instead, he just turns and shuffles into the alchemy lab.

A moment later, Hamilton follows behind, still clutching his wand tightly. Thomas spares a glance to James’ corner and mercifully finds it empty. He lets out a sigh of relief and stumbles to one of the corner shelves. He kneels and reaches into the bottom shelf to find one of his last bottles of whiskey.

Tucking it under the arm already holding the wine, Thomas pushes past a wary Hamilton and into the greenhouse. He just needs something mindless to do, heading into the desert biome to pluck needles from cacti, but the moment he’s in there he loses interest. Instead, he just ends up with his hands buried in loose sand, feeling it press down on his fingers.

He knows Hamilton is watching him, but the sensation of cascading sand around his trembling hands is so nice when he moves them he doesn’t care. He runs his hands through the soft sand, relishing in the sharpest sensory input he’s had in days. He picks up a handful, watching it fall from between the cracks in his fingers.

_“Thomas?”_

Thomas’ hand involuntarily clenches around his fistful of sand.

Thomas spends the entire day inside the greenhouse, not even doing anything but walking between the biomes and feeling the soil of each and every tank. He knows Hamilton keeps poking his head in to check on him, but Hamilton is the least of Thomas’ concerns right now. He’s just trying to keep himself grounded.

It’s not the easiest to do when James keeps speaking in his ear. Each time he hears it, his name being called from thin air, Thomas takes another drink. It’s a demented drinking game; _each time your dead best friend says your name, take a shot!_ Thomas can’t even really tell what he’s drinking anymore. His tongue has gone numb, and he _thinks_ the label has whiskey, but he honestly doesn’t care.

At some point around closing, Thomas’ bottle is empty and he stumbles back upstairs for just a moment to grab his last bottle of wine. He almost falls down the stairs, and he almost wishes he had. Breaking his neck at this point would be a mercy kill from the universe. He picks his way back to where he was - midway through his third trip through the grasslands - and pushes past a frightened Hamilton.

“There you are,” Hamilton says, sighing in relief. Thomas doesn’t respond, just pushes his hand into the upturned soil. It’s cool against his skin, lovely and focusing.

_“Thomas?”_

Thomas uncorks the wine with his teeth and gulps down a mouthful. His hand, the one pushed down in the soil, clenches into a fist as he almost chokes on it. It squishes between his fingers satisfyingly as he coughs.

At some point, Thomas looks up to find it’s gotten dark. He’s elbow deep in wetland peat soil and something tells him Hamilton hasn’t been by in a while. He thinks maybe he ought to check on him, but that means leaving the greenhouse and Thomas doesn’t want to do that. He wants to stay here, stay awake and keep his hands in piles of dirt.

Speaking of which, the next tank is calling Thomas’ name and he pulls his hands out of the peat in favor of the muddier looking stuff next to him -

_“Thomas?_ ”

Thomas pulls his hands away from the tank to grab for the wine bottle. He fumbles for it, not quite in control of his limbs or able to see clearly, and ends up knocking it over.  the last few drops inside spill onto the floor. “Fuck,” Thomas mutters, shutting his eyes to quell his swimming vision.

He goes to turn, to make his way back to the apartment in search of more alcohol, but a day of nonstop drinking and exhaustion catch up with him, sending Thomas toppling to the floor. He groans, feeling the cold tile against his skin and through his clothes.

_“Thomas?”_ James intones, and Thomas flinches.

“Shut up,” he mutters, struggling to his hands and feet.

_“Thomas?”_ Thomas shuts his eyes, trying to ignore it. _“Thomas?.....Thomas?”_

“I said shut up!” Thomas snaps, but the sound continues. James, asking for him, pleading for Thomas to save him, resounds around Thomas. Desperate, Thomas crawls underneath the table, trying to get away. It’s no use, Thomas should already know that.

_“Thomas?”_ Thomas sits back on his knees, hunched underneath the table. _“Thomas?”_

“Why won’t you shut up and leave me alone?!” Thomas says, throwing his hands over his ears. He can’t take it anymore, he can’t do it. He feels himself rock in place, his hands clamped so hard on either side of his head it almost hurts. He stares, unseeing at the floor, just trying to shut out James’ voice.

It doesn’t work, he hears James’ last word on this earth echo in his head over and over again. The air around him is suffocating, he can’t force himself to move. It’s like he’s trapped in the nightmare again.

A loud _slam_ makes Thomas flinch, his body reacting on instinct and scooting away from the door. “Jefferson?” A frantic voice calls, followed by rushed footsteps. A pair of feet rushes by him, stopping by the upturned bottle of wine. “Fuck, _dammit,_ ” the voice hisses. “Two hours Alex, you fell asleep for _two hours_ and you lost him!”

Then the voice falls silent, and Thomas becomes aware of another sound - an odd keening noise. A moment later, he realizes it’s coming from his own mouth and he tries to clamp down on it. He can’t be found, not like this, whoever it is out there will -

The feet take a few steps closer to where Thomas is, and then the person bends down, and Thomas braces himself for the worst. The face that appears in front of him is familiar, and Thomas can’t help but wonder what Hamilton is doing here.

“Jefferson?” Hamilton asks, quietly. His voice is muffled behind Thomas’ hands, but Thomas can still hear him. Thomas tries to speak, tries to say _anything_ but it just comes out as a choked grunt. Hamilton’s eyes glimmer, but Thomas is too far gone to even try and read his face. “Are you okay?”

Silence meets Hamilton’s question, and it must be enough of an answer for him because he drops fully to his knees and tries to crawl under the table after Thomas. Thomas’ eyes widen, his heartbeat picks up. He frantically tries to scoot away, farther under the table and Hamilton stops moving.

“Alright, alright,” Hamilton says, picking up his hands to show Thomas that nothing’s in them. He’s not even holding his wand. “I won’t come close.” Thomas stops, his body feeling like lead. He doesn’t want to move any more than he has to. Hamilton pauses, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Do you want to come out from under the table?” Hamilton asks. Thomas shakes his head, and Hamilton hesitates again.

_“Thomas?”_ Comes James’ voice again, and Thomas clamps down his ears, letting out a little whimper.

“Hey, hey now, it’s okay,” Hamilton is saying. “Whatever it is, it’s not real.” Oh, what Thomas would give to make that true. He pulls his knees up to his chest, buries his face in his knees, tries to block everything out. “Okay, uh,” Hamilton breathes. “ _Fuck_ what do I do?”

Thomas doesn’t respond, _can’t_ respond. Words are so far beyond him right now. But Hamilton seemingly has a thousand of them, because he keeps talking.

“Stay calm Alex, it’s not like the most powerful wizard you’ve met since Washington is having a mental breakdown underneath a table or anything. He certainly can’t snap you like a twig! No biggy.” Hamilton lets out a breath. “Damn it.” There’s a pause as if Hamilton is trying to think, then: “Well, at least under a table’s fairly safe? I mean, people tell you to hide under tables during earthquakes so it must not be _too_ bad?”

Thomas’ hands relax around his head, just slightly. He's not exactly listening to Hamilton, more just hearing him, but his voice is quiet. Nothing like the pleading, desperate tone James has. Hamilton speaks in a steady staccato, words tumbling out of his mouth as he talks to himself.

“I mean, a table _did_ save my life once, but I was floating on top of it rather than hiding below it. And even then that dude pulled me off before I was on there too long…. not the point, not the point.”

Thomas peeks up from his knees when Hamilton stops talking. Hamilton is leaning against the table leg, brow furrowed, staring at the floor in thought. The silence grates on Thomas’ nerves and he tries to talk, tries to ask Hamilton to keep talking but it just sort of ends up sounding like a small, pleading hum.

Hamilton’s eyes snap up, meeting Thomas’. For a moment he looks confused. “Yes? What… what can I do?” he asks, one hand curling around the table leg. Thomas still has no words, but he manages to repeat the sound.

Hamilton’s eyes light up in understanding. “Oh! Um, okay. I… I… okay. Well, I suppose the table comment deserves a bit of explanation?” Hamilton starts to ramble, but Thomas isn't paying attention. He just lets the sound wash over him. The constant, repetitive noises start to pull Thomas back into his own head. He watches Hamilton’s lips move, feeling his breathing start to steady out.

“...I mean, that guy had a little shop or whatever, but he just had local plants,” Hamilton is saying. “Nothing like what you've got. Not even close. Like, you have more plants in one _room_ than I thought existed on the _planet_.”

Has Hamilton even taken a breath since he started talking? Thomas isn't completely sure he has. But he just keeps going.

“There's so much cool shit in this biome alone, let alone the whole greenhouse. But oh man is there some really cool things. Dragon’s tongue? A plant that has a _tongue_ to protect its seeds? And it's that really shiny green color and it looks like scales! And sunburn blossoms hurt like hell but I don't think I've ever seen a prettier shade of orange. Or yellow.”

Thomas can feel his body relaxing, his hands falling away from his head and resting on his knees. “The only thing I really wish you had is this blue fortune flower? We had it back home in Nevis, but I don't think I've seen it since I came over. The closest thing is those purple lily flowers but those grow in water and the purple color is kind of ugly -”

“Fuck you it's gorgeous,” Thomas cuts in, finally finding his voice again. His words are rough, devoid of any actual malice or argument, but it's what he can get out. Hamilton’s eyes light up and he sits up from against the table leg.

“Back with me?” Hamilton asks. Thomas’ lip curls as Hamilton keeps talking. “Cuz for a while there I thought -”

“Shut up,” Thomas says. “Literally, just shut up.” He feels his face start to heat up as the reality of what’s happened sinks in. Hamilton shouldn't have seen him like that. He can't _believe_ he let Hamilton see him in that state, begged him to keep talking, held onto his voice like a lifeline.

Hamilton pauses, looking at Thomas in disbelief for a moment. Then the mounting anger dissipates and he cocks an eyebrow. “Oh so _now_ you want me to shut up?” Thomas levels him with a glare.

“I said shut up, and get out of the way.”

Hamilton scoots back, out from under the table and Thomas follows. Hamilton is mercifully silent, even as Thomas stumbles to his feet. He nearly falls over again, and when Hamilton shoots out a hand to help Thomas swats it away. He doesn't look at Hamiton, can't force himself to meet the other man’s eyes again.

“How did you even fit under the table?” Hamilton asks.

“Shut. Up,” Thomas grits out. Hamilton sighs but follows Thomas out of the biome.

The morning sun is poking through the greenhouse window, and Thomas knows he should be getting ready to open. But when he tries to go for the shop front, Hamilton steps in front of him.

“What do you think you're doing?” Hamilton asks. Thomas chooses a spot in the door to look at, stubbornly refusing to meet Hamilton’s gaze.

“Going to work?” Thomas asks. Hamilton raises one eyebrow.

“Uh, no you're not?”

“Yes I am,” Thomas says, reaching for the door handle again. Hamilton throws his hand in front of it, effectively blocking Thomas.

“Do you remember what just happened?” Hamilton asks. Thomas feels his jaw set. “You kind of had a total mental breakdown?”

“I'm fine,” Thomas replies.

“, o you're not. When's the last time you slept? Ate? _Showered_? Have you even looked in a mirror in the past few days?” Hamilton’s free hand flies in the air as he talks. “Even if you were fine, we _need_ to talk about what just happened.”

“No we don't,” Thomas says, stiffly.

“If part of my apprentice duties are going to be pulling you out of… whatever trance you've been in all week I need to know what’s up.”

Mortification bubbles beneath Thomas’ skin, he's so aware of the other man’s presence and his gaze boring into Thomas. His skin prickles with it.

And then comes the horrid realization that tomorrow is going to be worse. Tomorrow is going to be so much worse.

“Hamilton, take the today and tomorrow off,” Thomas says. Hamilton blinks, a frown stretching across his face.

“No,” Hamilton says. “You can't work today and I can't leave you -”

“Take today and tomorrow,” Thomas demands. “Get out of the shop and don't come back until tomorrow night.”

Hamilton looks up at him in utter disbelief. “Jefferson, you may be the biggest asshole I've ever met, but I can't in good conscious leave you alone after what just -”

“How many times do I have to tell you: _shut up about that_!” Thomas snaps. There’s a flash of fear in Hamilton’s eyes, but he holds his ground.

“Something is _wrong_ with you Jefferson -”

“I am fine and we are _finished_ talking about this!” Thomas glares down at Hamilton. “Get out.” Still Hamilton does not move. Thomas can almost see the gears turning in the man’s head, and he goes to shove Hamilton out of the way.

“I'll make you a deal!” Hamilton says, hurriedly, frantically trying to stay in Thomas’ way. Thomas growls.

“I said -”

“If you take today off, go upstairs and shower, eat, _sleep_ , I’ll take tomorrow off.”

Thomas stops, looking down at Hamilton. Getting the younger man out of the shop tomorrow is so vital. Thomas figures he can last the rest of today in his apartment.

“You'll leave at sunrise tomorrow and won't come back until sunset,” Thomas instructs. Hamilton nods, steely determination in his eyes. Thomas sighs.

“Fine,” he grumbles, turning and heading for his apartment door. Footsteps behind him make him stop. He glances over his shoulder to find Hamilton following him.

“What are you doing?” Thomas says.

“Going to make sure you actually take care of yourself and go to bed,” Hamilton says.

“You're not allowed in my apartment,” Thomas says. Hamilton frowns.

“But –“

“Go open Hamilton.”

“But!”

Thomas yanks open his door and shuts in Hamilton’s face before he can follow. Thomas slides the deadbolt home and watches Hamilton jiggle the doorknob.

“Jefferson!” Hamilton calls. “Open the door.”

But Thomas is already marching up the stairs. As long as Hamilton doesn't force his way upstairs, it should be alright. Thomas can make it the next two days, and then they just won't talk about it again. The way Hamilton’s learning, he'll be done and out before next June.

Thomas makes his way to his kitchen and throws open the booze cabinet. Nothing. Right. Thomas drank his last bottle last night. He glances around, empty bottles litter his apartment, taking up space on his counter, his tables, his floor. There's a huge collection on his coffee table, various bottles of different shapes and sizes sitting next to his second alarm clock.

Thomas picks his way over there, throwing himself on the couch and carefully checking each one to see if he accidentally left one half-full. With the exception of a single mouthful of tequila, Thomas has no luck.

With a frustrated noise, Thomas flops down onto his back. His couch is lumpy, full of stains and even a few holes. Normally he’s wasted when he passes out here, but in his half-sober state the old springs dig into his back.

As long as he stays here, he won't fall asleep. Sober him has far too many standards to fall asleep on this horrid piece of shit. His eyes drift shut, smiling to himself. Joke’s on Hamilton, there’s no way Thomas will -


	6. Chapter 6

_James is screaming._

_James is screaming in agony and Thomas is trying his damned hardest not to look. He keeps his eyes shut, knowing what he’d see if he opened them. He doesn’t think he could stand watching it again. He’s hyperventilating, hissing breaths between his teeth trying to block out James’ inhuman cries. Thomas wraps his arms around his waist, holding himself as best he can. He tries to focus on anything but James, fights the urge to open his eyes._

_Then it goes quiet. Dead silent but for Thomas’ strained breathing, and for a moment Thomas thinks it’s over. He lets out a shuddering breath, a sick sense of relief flooding him. At least it’s done, James is -_

_“Thomas,” James says, his voice pained. Thomas gasps, his ice cold fear turning his insides solid._

_“James!” Thomas says, the words spilling out unbidden. “Oh thank god, you’re okay.”_

_“Everything’s numb,” James says. Thomas laughs, the sound tearing its way out of him even has he tries to stifle it._

_“You did take a curse point… blank…”_

_“One hell of a curse,” James says, voice strained. “Can’t move and I’m cold.” Thomas doesn’t reply, his teeth biting his bottom lip. “Thomas?” He bites through the skin, feeling copper flood his mouth. “Thomas, what’s wrong?”_

_“Nothing Jemmy,” Thomas says. “You’re okay. You’re going to be just fine.”_

_“You’re scaring me.”_

_“There’s nothing to be scared of.”_

_“Pain’s even already fading,” James says. Thomas lets out a sob as he speaks again, mouth moving without command._

_“Great, that’s fantastic.”_

_“Though it’s really cold. Did you make us some shade?”_

_“....yeah, yeah I did.”_

_A silence stretches, and Thomas waits for it. When it comes, it hits Thomas like a sledgehammer. “Thomas?”_

_“Yes, Jemmy?”_

_“I can’t move.”_

_“You’re going to be okay Mads.”_

_“Thomas I can’t move. I can’t feel anything,” James says, the edge of fear creeping into his fading voice._

_“It’s okay James, you’re going to be okay.”_

_“Thomas?” James asks, panic starting to overtake him even as his voice fails. “Why do you keep saying that? Thomas?” He pleads. Thomas’ name leaves James lips for what Thomas knows will be the last time. There’s an awful, wet coughing sound, and then nothing._

_Tears stream down Thomas’ face. It’s finally over and James is gone. Thomas lets out the breath he didn’t realize was trapped in his chest._

_“Oh sure, try all six on your own. See what happens,” James teases._

_Thomas stops, not quite sure what is happening. A flash of red light through his closed eyelids shocks Thomas enough that his eyes fly open. He’s on that damned street, surrounded by rubble again. There is no one around, no one but James. He’s standing there in front of Thomas, grinning, unaware of the bolt of magic surging through the air behind him._

_“Down!” Thomas shouts, his hand flying out, magic pooled in his palm. James frowns in confusion for a moment, and then his instincts kick in. He goes to dive for the ground as Thomas’ arm stretches out and throws up a glimmering bright purple shield._

_Both of them move just a fraction of a moment too late. The red light just makes it past Thomas’ magic a second before the shield goes up, and James cannot move faster than a curse. It strikes him in the back, boring into the space between his shoulder blades. James screams as he’s knocked to the ground, the impact sending him skidding along the destroyed street. He hits a pile of rubble and it falls on top of him._

_The faceless wizard turns his wand on Thomas, but Thomas is faster. His shield collapses and the latent magic is turned into the strongest Serversium curse Thomas has ever cast. The wizard cries out in pain as his flesh is flayed off his skin. As Thomas turns to go after James, his brain screams at him that this is useless._

_James is going to die. Again._

_But Thomas’ body is out of his control, even as his mind screams for him to stop. To not look. To not go through this. Thomas drops to his knees by where James is still on the ground and throws a shield around them. The curse is still working its way through his body, red sparks dancing along James’ skin and he flails like he’s been electrocuted. The sounds being torn from James aren’t under control and they send chills down Thomas’ spine._

_And then, with one last spark, the curse has run its course and James’ body goes limp. He’s on his stomach, covered by pieces of ruined building, and it doesn’t look like his chest is moving. Tentatively, Thomas reaches out with one hand and grabs James by the shoulder. With a quiet groan, James opens his eyes._

_“Thomas?” he asks, voice strained._

_“James! Oh thank god you’re okay,” Thomas says. He’s still crying, his entire body is shaking and he’s letting out sobs between words._

_“Everything's numb.”_

_Despite everything, Thomas’ laugh sounds genuine, filled with relief. He starts to shift the rubble off of James. There’s not much, just a thin layer. “You did take a curse point…” Thomas picks up a shard of concrete and the underside is coated in blood. He looks down at James’ uncovered back; even as his mind is telling him he already knows what it looks like. He already knows. “...blank…”_

_The hole in James’ back is grotesque with burned and bloodied skin. Thomas doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to relive the sight of James’ broken spine, sticking out of the gaping hole in his body. But there it is, right in front of him._

_“One hell of a curse,” James grunts out. “Can’t move and I’m cold.” Thomas is frozen, unable to speak until James finishes his line. “Thomas? Thomas, what’s wrong?”_

_“Nothing Jemmy,” Thomas lies. “You’re okay. You’re going to be just fine.” He feels his body try and call up the magic, but he can’t focus. James’ bloody back sends waves of fear and panic through Thomas’ body. Purple sparks and sputters on his fingertips, his magic failing him because of course,it does. The part of his brain still removed from the situation watches in despair as Thomas tries desperately to get any magic, any at all to work._

_And so on they go, following the script like two puppets on stage. While James asks about the shade, Thomas scoots up to where James’ head lies. With shaking hands, Thomas picks James up enough to put James’ head in his lap. His body is twisted oddly, only able to move this way because James’ spine is eviscerated, but James doesn’t react. James can’t feel anything._

_Thomas rocks James back and forth as the realization starts to dawn on his friend’s face, as if James can feel the comforting movement. Thomas is sobbing, tears falling onto James’ face but James keeps going without reacting._

_“Thomas, I can’t move. I can’t feel anything,” James croaks out. Thomas nods, holding James as tightly to himself as he can. His magic won’t take, won’t even build. Blood is spilling onto his legs, his body, his hands but Thomas doesn’t dare let go._

_“It’s okay James, you’re going to be okay,” Thomas says. James looks up at Thomas, eyes wide with fear._

_“Thomas? Why do you keep saying that?” Thomas can hear how scared James is. He searches for the words he couldn’t think of the first time around and still comes up blank. His last attempt to cast some healing spell doesn’t even call light to his fingertips. It’s failed him,_ he’s _failed. “Thomas?”_

_The last plea from James breaks his heart. Thomas can’t do anything as James starts to shake in his arms. His eyes slide in and out of focus and Thomas just cradles him as tight as he can. James hacks, gasping for air as blood collects in his mouth. James’ chest heaves one last time, and he stills._

_Thomas wails, bent over James’ now lifeless body. James is rapidly cooling under his hands, completely limp in Thomas’ arms. Thomas presses James’ face into his chest. He’s so motionless, so heavy, so -_

_“Oh sure, try all six on your own. See what happens,” James teases._

_Thomas is back on his feet, the red magic surging up behind James._ No, _Thomas pleads silently,_ oh god please not again. _Thomas calls for James to dive, tries to throw up the shield, watches James fly across the street again. Kills the wizard, listens to James’ tortured cries, dusts off the rubble again._

_Watches James die in his arms again. And again. And again and again and again. Each time, James’ screams grow that much more unbearable, the hole in his back becomes that much worse, James holds to life just a little longer, pleading for Thomas to help him and coughing up more and more blood._

_And then Thomas is standing up again, watching the fatal bolt come flying towards his doomed best friend. His arm comes up, casts the shield, and he watches James go flying. But in the moment Thomas releases his revenge-fueled spell, things change in an instant. The man flying across the street isn’t James anymore, but that faceless wizard in the red uniform._

_Thomas turns just in time to watch his own magic rip into James, his friend now standing in the redcoat’s spot._

_James cries out, skin peeling slicing into thin lines and curling away from his body. Thomas’ bright purple magic dances around James, even as he collapses to the ground. He watches the magic fade in hue, but not in power, turning into the dark, dull purple he knows too well. Thomas rushes to James’ side, apologies on his lips, and throws himself to the dust-covered ground._

_James looks up at him, flesh peeling from his face, with a look of utter horror and betrayal in his eyes. Thomas reaches out, but James scrambles away, leaving streaks of blood on the ground. Blood leaks from every inch of his body it seems, a light purple dusting his skin. And still, James looks at him, eyes wide and dimming._

_“Thomas?” He asks, in that same pleading, scared, confused tone -_

\--------------

Thomas shoots up on the couch, tears rolling down his face, mouth open in a silent scream. He breathes in ragged gasps, trying to fill his lungs with air. His lungs burn with each heave as if _he_ was the one dying. One hand grabs onto the back of the couch and holds on tight. He swallows, choking on what feels like the sandpaper in his throat.

Thomas finally manages to draw a full breath and looks around his living room. Sunlight streams in through the window, but Thomas has no idea what time or day it is. He looks over at his second clock, the one he put on the coffee table when he eventually admitted to himself just how much he slept on the couch.

June 28th, 9:54 am. He’d slept an entire day and night. Still, his body feels exhausted. Thomas wonders, not for the first time, if he’ll ever feel rested again. He sighs, goes to swing his legs to the ground -

James is sitting in his armchair, bloodied all to hell.

Thomas stops, one foot on the floor and the other hanging oddly off the side of the couch. James is back, and he’s just staring again, an accusation in his eyes instead of the dead, lifeless stare. Thomas’ breathing starts to pick up again.

“James,” Thomas says, as if James is there; like they’re about to have an amicable conversation. James says nothing, body almost entirely still. His eyes speak for him: _you failed me_.

“I’ve apologized,” Thomas says, his voice harsh. He winces at his own tone, but James does not react. The heavy glare is all James needs. _You failed me, Thomas._

“I tried,” Thomas croaks out. “I tried to save you.”

_You failed me._

“Don’t you think I don’t know that?” Thomas asks, spitting his words through gritted teeth.

_I died because you failed_.

“What do you want from me?” Thomas asks, rising from the couch. “What could you _want_ from me, huh?”

_You failed me_. James’ cold stare follows Thomas as he takes steps towards the chair. James doesn’t even blink. Thomas scowls, though maybe it’s more like a grimace, and he feels magic start to pool inside him.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” Thomas shouts. “It’s been six years! Move on!” Tears threaten to fall anew as James silently watches Thomas draw closer. “Answer me damn it!”

The dim, dark purple glow that’s been Thomas’ magic for six years gathers in his hands as he glares at James. He waits for him to speak, for a reaction, _anything_.  
All he gets is _I trusted you and you failed me_.

Thomas screams, all pain and rage, his hand flying out without control. Magic wraps around James and the chair, and a second later it explodes into flames. The fire burns impossibly bright, consuming James in an instant. It takes but two heartbeats for the fire to burn itself out, leaving nothing but a pile of ash in its wake.

Thomas stares at it for a moment, victorious. He did it. James is gone and it’s because of Thomas.

Then it hits him; _James is gone because of Thomas_.

Thomas’ eyes widen. “No,” he murmurs, looking down at the ash pile. “No, no, no, _no._ ” James had been here, he’d come back and Thomas fucked it up again. James is dead, and now he’s gone. “Oh god, what have I done?” Thomas asks thin air.

His head snaps around, looking for James to reappear. He has to reappear, he _has_ to. Thomas searches his apartment, checking every corner in his panic. James can’t be gone again.

Growing frantic, Thomas stumbles down the stairs. He throws open the door to the alchemy lab, eyes darting to the corner James likes to stand in. He’s met with empty air and shelves of leaves.

He slams the door, spins and goes for the greenhouse. He checks each and every biome and finds no trace of James. Thomas, mind in a whirl, rushes back to the hallway. James has to be either in the shop or just outside the window. Those are the only two places he could be.

Thomas rushes into the shop, heart pounding. He scans each and every aisle, to find everything empty and still. The only sounds are his running footsteps and panicked breathing. Steeling himself, Thomas surges down one of the aisles, hoping beyond all hope he’ll find James standing outside, peering in through the window. He bursts into the very front of the shop, eyes scanning up and down the street.

Empty.

Completely empty.

James is really gone.

Thomas backs up, staring at the spot James _should_ be. His mind is in complete freefall. James is gone, dead. Thomas killed him again. He lost control of his magic and killed him again. God, he can’t use magic when he needs it and can’t stop himself when he needs to.

Thomas’ back hits the end of a free-standing shelf. He whirls, eyes flicking around the shop. His perfectly organized shelves, full of bottles and leaves and plant tanks. His pride and joy, the reason he still breathes.

He hates it all.

Rage comes boiling to the surface, pent up magic flickers to life at his fingertips and then a row of bottles is shattered on the floor. Thomas flicks his hand and entire shelf crumbles. Leaves fly everywhere as Thomas tears them from the wall.

“How this, huh?” Thomas shouts as if James is still around to hear him. “Your precious little botanica, gone! Just like you!” Glass shatters, soil flies through the air. Thomas watches it all fall apart through the purple-tinted air, teeth gritted in a half snarl, half grimace. Thomas’ magic tears through the shop like a hurricane, destroying everything in its path.

It doesn’t stop until the walls are bare, the shelves broken and everything is scattered across the floor. Even the countertop is cracked, jagged lines tearing through the polished wood. Twisted metal, shards of glass and torn flora litter the shop floor. The store is in ruins, rubble strewn around so it looks like a war zone.

And Thomas feels empty.

He realizes he has nothing left. Not anger, not sadness, not James, not the shop, _nothing_. He looks around at the destruction he caused, his heart already too far broken to hurt at the sight. _I ruin everything_ , Thomas realizes. _I can’t keep one good thing without breaking it, can I?_

Slowly, as if in a daze, Thomas stumbles across the remains of his shop. He trips over a piece of metal and ends up with the countertop digging into his stomach. It hurts, the impact is going to leave a bruise he knows, but Thomas is more concerned about what he can see rolling around on the floor. An old wine bottle, rolling listlessly back and forth in a semi-circle. Thomas climbs over the counter - it’s shattered in a couple of places and Thomas can just step over one bit - and picks it up. Instantly, he can feel that it’s empty.

Except then it’s not, and Thomas can see the little glow of purple from inside. _Fuck it,_ he thinks. Thomas downs almost half the bottle in one go, climbing back over the counter to the shop proper. The wine, exhaustion and magic use hits him hard, and he trips. Thomas falls into a pile of ceiling tile and pegboard wood, holding his bottle up so as not to smash it.

Thomas rolls over until he’s facing the ceiling. The pile shifts under him until it’s a makeshift chair and Thomas just settles into it. He doesn’t care anymore. He takes another swig; he can’t decide what kind of wine he accidentally created. He downs the bottle, figuring it doesn’t matter as it refills in his hand.

And that’s how he sits. For hours, draining and refilling the same bottle as he stares at the ruins of his life around him. The shop is gone, and with it James and anything keeping Thomas tethered here. He wonders if he’ll be able to magic up enough wine to end it all.

The sun travels across the sky, each time Thomas looks up the shadows are in another position. The double vision has returned, the world swims around Thomas as he manages to focus just enough to give himself another full bottle. Each refill tastes a little more like shit, but Thomas can’t bring himself to care. He can’t bring himself to care about anything.

He doesn’t even care when he hears the faint ring of the front doorbell, or the hesitant, careful footsteps picking their way across the piles of rubble. It’s not until the footsteps stop in front of Thomas does he look up.

The moonlight really does frame James’ face nicely.

Thomas gasps, the bottle falling from his hand. He sits up from the pile, reaching out with one hand that hangs trembling in the air. James’ brow furrows, he squats down.

“Are you okay?” James asks. Thomas fumbles for James’ face, just managing to grab a hold of either side of his face.

“You came back,” Thomas says in awe. James nods, slowly.

“Of course I did,” he says. Thomas’ gaze flits across James’ face, the familiar prick of tears stinging his eyes. “What happened?”

“Mads,” Thomas breathes, pulling James down into his lap and into a hug. Thomas buries his face into James’ neck, arms squeezing as hard as he can around James’ middle. “You came back and you’re talking to me and I’m so sorry.”

James is stiff in his embrace as Thomas keeps going. “I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it, I swear. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you and I’m sorry about the fire and I’m sorry about the shop.” Thomas has no idea if James can even understand what he’s saying, with his words slurred and face buried in James’ skin. “I couldn’t focus,” Thomas says. “You needed me and I couldn’t focus and I failed and my magic wouldn't work and I’m so sorry.”

And then James slowly raises his arms, carefully returns the hug and relaxes into Thomas’ hold. “I forgive you,” James says. Thomas gasps, not quite trusting his own ears.

“What?”

“I forgive you,” James repeat, voice light. Thomas pauses, not believing what he hears and then James squeezes back. Wide-eyed, looking just over James’ shoulder, Thomas bursts into tears.

Within moments, he’s sobbing. He’s _wailing_ into James’ shoulder and James just holds him tighter. James starts to rock them side to side, gently, muttering quiet nothings that Thomas can’t understand. He’s shaking and crying too hard to process anything but the low, quiet rhythm of James’ voice.

“I’ve missed you,” Thomas stutters out. “I’ve missed you so damn much.”

“I’ve missed you too,” James replies. Thomas lets out another mournful sound, his tears staining James’s shoulder. He sniffs, struggling to breathe through his sobs.

“I built this place for you. Just like you wanted.” Thomas grips James’ back as hard as his shaking hands allow. James breathes, slow and steady, a rock under Thomas’ storm.

“I know,” he replies. “Thank you.”

And then they’re silent, James just holding Thomas until eventually, his body runs out of tears. Thomas is shaking still, his head pounding, but he’s out of tears and his throat’s gone dry.

“Been having nightmares,” Thomas admits. “About how I failed you. And watching you -” Thomas’ throat closes around the word, he can’t say it - “and then I thought you were gone and I’ve missed you so much.” James hums, one hand moving to rub slow circles on Thomas’ scalp. “But you’re here now and please don’t ever leave again. I don’t want to be alone anymore. It hurts so much, Mads.”

Thomas rests his head against James’ shoulder, still muttering. “It hurts and I need you back and please don’t leave me. I know it’s all my fault but please don’t go again.” He shuts his eyes, the gentle rocking,and pressure against his head so comforting.

James gently pats Thomas on the back. “Why don’t we get you to bed?” He asks quietly. Thomas clings to James’ shirt, even as James pulls away.

“Stay,” Thomas croaks out. James glances about the shop.

“We can’t stay right here,” he says. Thomas shakes his head and tugs on James’ shirt front.

“ _Stay_ ,” he insists. James pauses, his body going still.

“Oh,” he says, and for a second Thomas is terrified James _will_ leave him. Then James looks at him and his expression softens. “Of course, J- Thomas. Come on.”

James slowly stands, bringing Thomas up with him. Thomas is unsteady on his feet, leaning all the way on James to stand. James slowly walks Thomas up towards the front of the store, and into the closet door.

“Is this where you’ve been hiding?” Thomas offers with a watery smile. James looks at him, his mouth in a thin line. Then he offers a slight smile in return.

“Sure,” James says. He leads Thomas to a bed, helps him lay down and then steps back. Thomas instantly tries to sit up, arms reaching for his best friend. James is instantly back at his side, pushing Thomas back down. “You have to sleep.”

“Stay with me,” Thomas insists. James frowns.

“The bed’s not big enough,” he says. Thomas looks up at him, he can tell he’d be crying again if he hadn’t already spent all his tears. James shuts his eyes, lets out a short sigh, and then his expression softens again.

“Alright,” James says, pulling his wand from his back pocket. Thomas smiles; exhausted, tear-stained but a giddy smile nonetheless. There’s a creeping of green light and then the bed is much wider. James slowly crawls in next to Thomas, and Thomas instantly latches himself onto the other man.

Thomas puts his head on James’ chest, hearing his heartbeat. _James’ heartbeat_. Thomas curls into James’ side, ignoring how stiff and awkwardly James puts his arm around Thomas’ shoulder.

“I love you,” Thomas murmurs. James’ arm stiffens, tightening around Thomas’ shoulders. In the contented silence, arms around his best friend, Thomas manages to find sleep.

And for the first time in a very long time, it’s dreamless.


	7. Chapter 7

Thomas wakes up in a strange bed, head pounding as he takes in his surroundings. He doesn’t recognize the bright, sunshine yellow comforter on top of him, or the entire apartment for that matter. That’s not his window, stretching up the wall opposite him. He doesn’t have bookshelves lining his bedroom, and he certainly doesn’t own enough books to fill them. The apartment is open, almost like a studio but exceedingly spacious. There’s a tiny kitchenette on one side and a fireplace in the corner.

Thomas has never seen this place before. He sits up in the four-poster bed, trying desperately to remember how he got here. Sheer curtains hang on either side of the wooden canopy, the same yellow shade as the sheets. It’s luxurious, with a little Spanish inspiration, and in any other situation, Thomas might actually enjoy it.

Seeing that he has zero clue where he is, however, Thomas has bigger issues on his mind than appraising a stranger’s interior decorating. He shuts his eyes, trying to recall anything from yesterday -

James. Thomas had a nightmare and destroyed the shop and then James came back. Except, looking back, it hadn’t been James that had found him past sunset in the ruins of his store. It couldn’t have been, James was dead. Six years dead and Thomas realizes, with a sinking sense of horror and embarrassment, what had really happened.

It hadn’t been James last night, it had been Hamilton. It had been Hamilton that Thomas has hugged and cried on. Hamilton that Thomas had stuttered apologies to. _Hamilton_ that had led Thomas to bed. He couldn’t remember much after lying down, but he probably just fell asleep. In Hamilton’s bed, _fuck_.

Thomas looks around again. _How is this Hamilton's closet_ \- magic. The kid has magicked the closet to be larger on the inside; because of course, he has. Thomas takes a breath and gets out of bed - his head almost hitting the canopy. He just ducks underneath it and picks his way across the floor. The entire space is littered with dirt and sweat-stained clothes, but in the corner, Thomas can see where Hamilton’s uniform is being levitated so as not to wrinkle or dirty it.

Thomas makes his way to the one closed door, the old, worn wood sticks out against the elegance around it. As he reaches for the doorknob, images of his destroyed shop flash through his mind. He almost feels sick as he remembers the feeling of magic surging through him as he tore it apart himself. He steels himself and throws open the door like ripping off a band-aid.

The store is in perfect condition. Thomas stares wide-eyed at the restored shelves, products, the pristine floors and repaired ceiling tiles. He takes a tentative step into the shop, his hair standing on end due to the latent electric feeling in the air. _Magic,_ Thomas realizes dimly, but he’s too busy staring in awe at his surroundings to really process it. It’s like yesterday didn’t happen.

The sound of a door opening makes Thomas snap his head in the direction of the counter. Hamilton, juggling a basket, lets the door to the back shut. He drops the basket on the counter, reaches up to readjust his ponytail, and looks down the aisles. Thomas sees him freeze when they lock eyes.

“Oh,” Hamilton says, hands dropping to his sides. “You’re up.”

Thomas nods. “Did you do all this?” Thomas asks, motioning to the restored shop front.

“Yep,” Hamilton says warily. His eyes search Thomas, looking for something like he’s peering into Thomas’ soul. Thomas starts to make his way down the aisle, still looking up and down the shelves in disbelief. He reaches the counter, Hamilton’s eyes still on him, and he plants his hands carefully on the repaired wood.

“So, uh, Madison had to leave…” Hamilton trails, trying to look as casual as possible but Thomas can tell how tightly-wound he is. Thomas sighs, flat hands turning into fists against the counter.

“Don’t say that,” Thomas says, quietly. He looks down at the counter, traces the grain of the wood with his eyes. “I know what reality is and what it’s not.” Hamilton’s shoulders relax a fraction, but there’s guarded disbelief in his eyes. “Last night was an anomaly.”

“It’s been all week,” Hamilton says. Thomas swallows.

“It’s not that bad -”

“It’s pretty bad,” Hamilton interrupts. Thomas is silent for a moment, unable to meet the other man’s gaze.

“If you don’t want to be around me anymore -”

“Don’t start with that bullshit again,” Hamilton scoffs. Thomas’ jaw sets as Hamilton keeps going. “I told you before, I can’t in good conscience leave you alone.”

“Oh, so it’s your ‘moral obligation’ to make sure I don’t kill myself?” Thomas snaps. Hamilton cocks an eyebrow.

“Yeah, actually.”

Thomas turns his head to glare at him. “I’m not a _charity case_ , Hamilton. I thought we agreed you didn’t pity the drunk.”

“The last time you said that I didn’t know how bad you were,” Hamilton counters.

“It’s not bad.”

“How much do you actually drink, Jefferson?” Hamilton asks, arms folded across his chest. Thomas doesn’t respond. “How often are you drunk?” Thomas still doesn’t answer, he doesn’t have to. The silence stretches between them before Hamilton lets out a breath.

“Who was Madison?” Hamilton asks. Thomas stiffens. “Your girlfriend?”

Thomas almost laughs, a breathy sound manages to escape him. “James _Madison_ was the best man I ever knew,” he says.

“Oh,” Hamilton says, the tiniest bit of shock in his voice. When he speaks again, it’s much quieter and softer. “Did he die in the war?”

“Yes,” Thomas says after a moment’s pause. Hamilton nods to himself, pushes the basket down the counter and slides up next to Jefferson. He folds his hands over the counter and leans over it.

“So, hear me out here.” Hamilton doesn’t make eye contact as he speaks, the both of them staring at the wall behind the counter. “But I think you’ve got something called post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Thomas blinks, his eyes flick down to look at Hamilton out of the corner of his eye. He’s completely straight-faced, and Thomas frowns. “What?”

“It’s a mental disorder,” Hamilton says. “It’s typically caused by living through some traumatic experience? I went down to the library when I was out yesterday to do some research.” Hamilton looks up, must see the incredulous frown across Thomas’ face because he rushes to say: “There’s nothing _wrong_ with you or anything. You just need a little… help.” He waits, looking for Thomas’ reaction.

Thomas slowly cocks one eyebrow. “You think I have PTSD?” Hamilton nods. And Thomas presses his lips together to keep from laughing. “Wow, I never considered that. The _war vet_ having PTSD?! Call the fucking presses, Alexander Hamilton’s a genius. No wonder Washington thinks so highly of you, you’re the greatest mind in psychology to ever live!”

Hamilton scowls. “Well you don’t have to be a dick about it,” he grumbles. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Yeah well- ” Thomas turns around and eyes the shelves- “you put absolutely nothing in its proper place. It’s all out of order. If that’s your definition of ‘help,’ I’ll pass.”

Hamilton’s eyes widen. “You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly,” Thomas says. “Did you finish your greenhouse chores?”

“I was too busy picking up your mess,” Hamilton snaps. “We’re not done talking about this.”

“You keep saying that but each time we have certainly ‘been done talking about it.’” Thomas steps away from the counter, walking down the shelves and mentally marking each and every mistake Hamilton made.

“Jefferson, this isn’t something you can just shrug off!” Hamilton marches down the aisle after him. Thomas peers down at one of the potion shelves.

“They’re sorted by type, then alphabetical. Not that hard, Hamilton,” he says. Hamilton growls.

“You need help before you hurt yourself or someone else,” Hamilton says, completely railroading over Thomas. Thomas just hums.

“Last time I checked, ‘L’ came before ‘S.’” Thomas points down at the speed and luck stocks, sitting side by side. Hamilton glances at it.

“Yes, fine, whatever. I’m not letting this go,” Hamilton insists. “You need help and I _want_ to help you.”

“I don’t _need_ help, and certainly none from you!” Thomas whirls on Hamilton. “I have been handling myself just fine, thank you.”

“No, you haven’t!”

“The only reason any of this happened was that goddamned robbery,” Thomas snaps. “If it hadn’t been for that, none of the last week would have been nearly as bad.”

“You’re lying and you know it,” Hamilton says. “I saw Maryam on the street yesterday and we had a very interesting conversation.”

“Maryam doesn’t know shit about me,” Thomas says.

“ _Maryam_ found you in a pool of your own vomit once, half dead of alcohol poisoning!” Hamilton’s fists clench and unclench. Thomas recoils.

“I don’t drink gin anymore,” Thomas protests. Hamilton shakes his head.

“That’s not the point! The point is that you have an illness - and an addiction-  and you need help!”

The bell rings suddenly as the door to the shop opens. They’re both standing there, caught like deer in the headlights.

“ _Thomas Jefferson?!_ ” A woman yells, and Thomas recoils away from the direction of the door.

“I’m going to shower,” Thomas announces in a quiet whisper. “You deal with her.” He tries to backpedal quietly, tries to calculate how much time he has before she starts searching the aisles -

Angelica Schuyler’s face appears at the end of the aisle, her face a mask of contained anger. A set of cold eyes bore into him, completely ignoring Hamilton. Thomas stops in his tracks, trying to draw an appealing smile onto his face.

“Angelica,” he says, already trying to stall.

“Angelica?” Hamilton asks in the exact same moment. He steps forward, down the aisle towards her. Angelica’s death glare breaks for a moment as her eyes alight on him.

“Alexander?” She asks. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing!” Hamilton exclaims. “I haven’t seen you since you graduated.”

Thomas takes the opportunity to take a slow step back. His heel hits the floor, and Thomas winces at the noise. Instantly, Angelica’s eyes are back on him and he freezes. “Sorry Alex, we’ll catch up later. I have to kick Jefferson’s ass.” She starts to walk down the aisle, heels clicking ominously on the tile. Thomas feels his eyes widen, his heartbeat start to pick up. Hamilton glances between the two of them, watching as Angelica slowly forces Thomas into the back of the shop.

“Jefferson, you living piece of shit,” she snarls. “I am getting _sick_ and _tired_ of trying to come up with excuses for you! I am running out of ways to tell a bunch of wonderful children why they can’t go on their monthly field trip to see their favorite herbologist without admitting to them that you’re _drunk!_ ’

“You could stop promising a trip every month?” Thomas suggests, already nearing the countertop. The flare of rage in Angelica’s eyes is enough to already make him regret his words.

“I have! _They keep asking!_ ” Angelica snaps. “You were supposed to be at my apartment _two days ago_ to prove to me you could last long enough without a drink so I could trust my students to you.”

“I -” Thomas cuts himself off.

“You were here, blackout wasted, weren’t you?” Angelica accuses. “I had to go to school the next morning and tell the kids we couldn’t go. _Again_.” Thomas’ back hits the counter and his hands curl around the edge. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Thomas struggles to find something to say that might douse the fire in Angelica’s eyes even the littlest bit. His hands tighten around the counter. He can’t come up with a defense, he’s trapped. He opens his mouth to stall -

“You have no idea what he was doing two days ago,” Hamilton cuts in, sliding his body between Angelica and Thomas. Angelica blinks, looking down at the shorter man. “Cut him some slack.”

“And you’d know what he was doing?”

“I’m his apprentice, I _live_ here,” Hamilton explains.

“Since when?” Angelica scoffs

“For a month now.” Hamilton matches her glare easily, a feat Thomas has not seen many men do. “So I would know what he was doing.”

“Care to share?” Angelica asks, one eyebrow cocked. For a moment, Thomas is terrified Hamilton is will out him, will start talking about the night spent under a table.

Instead, Hamilton huffs, arms folded across his chest. “Not my story to tell.” The knot in Thomas’ stomach releases slightly. Angelica looks between both men in front of her, and then her eyes linger on Hamilton. Thomas can tell they share a conversation in expressions, but not what they’re saying. Eventually, Angelica takes a step back.

“I do expect better next month, Jefferson,” she says. “It’s not fair to the kids.” She looks down at Hamilton. “We’ll have to catch up Alex.” When she speaks to Hamilton, her voice is kinder, but not by much anymore. With one last glare at Thomas, Angelica whirls and stalks out of the shop.

Thomas lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, but then Hamilton is up in his face. “See?” Hamilton says. “ _Angelica Schuyler_ came down here to talk about your drinking habit. Now, what was all that about some kids?”

Thomas swallows, watching Angelica stride down the street. “She’s a teacher. Sometimes she brings her class around and I teach a lesson about plants or something.” Hamilton nods, almost to himself.

“And she doesn’t bring the kids if you’re drunk?” He asks. Thomas shakes his head. Hamilton’s face sets into solemn determination. “Those kids are coming next month.”

Thomas looks down at Hamilton. “I mean, one day sober isn’t difficult - “

“And you’ll stay sober until then.”

Thomas blinks, jaw dropping slightly in shock. “Like, _sober_ sober?”

“ _Sober_ sober,” Hamilton confirms. Instantly, Thomas feels a surge of dread at the thought of a whole month sober.

“No,” Thomas says before he can think through his words. Hamilton cocks an eyebrow.

“If you’re really not all that bad, you can handle a month without a drink,” Hamilton challenges. Thomas frowns.

“I can handle myself,” he insists.

“Then you can go a month sober,” Hamilton says. His face is set stubbornly, fists clenched at his sides. Thomas hesitates. _A whole month?_ Already his throat feels dry and he can almost feel the shakes. But Hamilton is looking up at him with a glint in his eye that Thomas can’t refuse.

“Fine. One month,” Thomas says. “Then you agree I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Hamilton says. “If you make it, I’ll say you’re perfectly okay.” Hamilton takes a step back and holds out his hand. Thomas eyes it for a moment, then reaches out and shakes it.

The slow smile creeping across Hamilton’s face already makes him regret this choice.

“Okay,” Hamilton says. “First things first.” Hamilton hops behind the counter and starts pulling everything out of the shelves. Thomas watches him stack papers and files on the table, stopping to uncork and sniff every bottle he comes across.

“Um, what are you doing?” Thomas asks.

“Checking to see what alcohol I can find,” Hamilton explains. “Can’t have you cheating now.” Hamilton places the empty bottles one-by-one on the counter.

“There’s nothing anywhere in the shop, Hamilton,” Thomas says. Hamilton looks up at him, one eyebrow cocked.

“And how would you know that?” He asks. Thomas flinches.

“I know what I’ve got,” he says simply. Hamilton rolls his eyes.

“I’ve seen the collection you keep strewn about. If you drank it _all_ in one week, you’ve got a problem.” Thomas doesn’t respond, and Hamilton completes his search of the counter space. “Alright. Greenhouse or lab next?”

“You’re not searching my apartment,” Thomas says. Hamilton shrugs.

“I’m sure you’re right, that you really did drink every bottle in this building dry. But even if you haven’t, I’ll just have to keep an eye on the diana’s perfumer.” Hamilton smirks at Thomas’ jolt of surprise. “I’m not an idiot, Jefferson,” he says and disappears into the back.

Thomas eyes the row of empty bottles on the counter. There’s got to be at least a dozen, maybe two. He lets out a sigh. _Just what has he agreed to?_

\--------------

By the end of the day, Thomas is already regretting his deal more than he thought he would. His whole body is shaking so hard he thinks he’s going to vibrate right out of his skin. His last drink was less than twenty-four hours ago, and he’s already snapping at anyone who talks to him. Hamilton takes his lunch and dinner breaks at his usual time, and the scent of food wafting from his closet is almost enough to make Thomas sick.

“I’m not going to drink!” Thomas snaps, catching Hamilton watching him for the thousandth time. “There’s not a drop of alcohol in this place!” Thomas slams his sales book on the counter, almost ripping pages as he flips to today’s records. Hamilton shrugs, going back to sweeping.

“Can’t hurt just to make sure,” he says. Thomas grumbles, gathering the opened book in his arms to check poison stock. It’s past close, the sun hasn’t dipped below the horizon yet but it’s preparing for the journey. He stands from the counter, instantly regretting it when his head swims and pain throbs behind his eyes.

What’s the point of getting sober if he retains all the side-effects of drinking? His free hand flies to the counter, holding himself steady as the world settles. When he manages to peel open his eyes, he finds Hamilton watching him again, but with concern in his eyes this time instead of suspicion.

Thomas scowls, marching out from behind the counter and to the locked glass case of poisons. _I can do this,_ he thinks. _Just get through today and it’ll get easier_.

\--------------

It most certainly does _not_ get easier. Thomas can’t sleep, which wouldn’t be a problem with him if it weren’t for the causes of his insomnia. His heart pounds in his ears and he lies in a pool of his own sweat. The shakes haven’t gone away, they’ve gotten worse instead. Hamilton won’t let him handle knives or anything breakable. Whatever food he - or more likely Hamilton - forces down Thomas’ throat ends up coming right back up fairly quickly.

All in all, Thomas is _miserable_.

And yet, Hamilton is there, forcing him to eat, sleep and shower. When Thomas wasn’t looking, Hamilton had snatched the shop keys and now won’t open until Thomas is fully cleaned up and eaten in the mornings. It doesn’t matter that Thomas doesn’t want to eat, or that he ends up puking it out an hour later, Hamilton makes him eat. It’s almost like the guy cares for him.

Thomas groans as he rests his forehead on the lip of the toilet bowl. His head feels like it’s being squeezed in a vise on all sides. _You’re detoxing,_ Hamilton had said. _It’s going to suck_.

_Well fuck you too Hamilton,_ Thomas thinks, well as best he can around the headache. _I’m going to do this. I can_ _do this. I can make it this time._

\--------------

Thomas has a seizure on his third day sober.

One second he’s carrying a harvest of prancing root to the lab, trying to ignore the heart palpitations making his chest burn, and the next second he’s on his side on the floor, a very scared looking Hamilton squatting just two feet away.

“Jefferson?” Hamilton says, voice edging on panic.

“What happened?” Thomas asks. He feels a bit sleepy like he’d just woken up from a nap.

“I heard you fall and I came in here to see what happened,” Hamilton explains, his eyes wide. “You had a seizure.”

Thomas lets out a breath, rolls onto his back and sits up. Hamilton’s eyes go from wide to as big as saucers. “No, you need to lie down. We need to call a doctor or the paramedics or -”

“It's fine Hamilton,” Thomas says. Hamilton looks at him in disbelief.

“You had a _seizure_.”

“Yes, that happens sometimes during detox.” Thomas slowly starts to gather the spilled roots with trembling hands. “I had a couple the last time.” Not until the words are out of his mouth does Thomas realize what he’s admitted to. He keeps his eyes locked on the ground, hoping Hamilton won’t -

“‘Last time?’” Hamilton asks. Thomas grits his jaw, dropping a handful of roots into the basket.

“A friend tried to detox me a while ago. Obviously didn’t stick.” Thomas stands, holding the basket as steady as he can. “We haven’t talked in years.”

“We should still call someone,” Hamilton insists.

“I said no, Hamilton.” Thomas crosses the short distance left to the alchemy lab and throws the door open. Just before it shuts behind him, he hears Hamilton call after him.

“If you have another, I’m calling someone!”

Then the door is shut and Thomas is alone. He puts the basket on the table, falls onto a stool and rubs his face in his hands. He had a _seizure_. After two days of feeling the sickest he’s ever been.

He feels out of control, like his whole body is trying to tear him apart from the inside. And he knows how to stop it too, and _oh god_ does he crave even just a single shot. His body aches for the burn and bubble of wine in his throat.

So what if he’s an alcoholic? Thomas knows he’s addicted. It doesn’t matter, he functions just fine. It’s not a problem, no matter what Hamilton might think or what Laf might have said. The bigger problem is how his hands and arms are shaking too hard to make the root powder he needs.

Thomas tries to breathe, tries to keep his heart beating steady, even if it feels like a jackhammer in his chest. How long had it been since he thought about Lafayette? Certainly been years since they’d had any sort of contact.

_You can’t even keep the friends still alive around,_ a voice in Thomas’ head says. _No wonder you’re a drunk_.

\--------------

Thomas doesn’t have another seizure, but he develops a fever sometime that night. Between his fits of sleep and lying awake, Thomas somehow manages to get even sicker. He gets shivers on top of the tremors and when the sun peeks through the window, Thomas can’t think of anything worse than getting up.

He might be soaked in his own sweat, but all Thomas wants to do is bury himself in his sheets and lay in bed. Well, he’d kill a man for a drink, but since that’s not a choice he wants to settle for just staying here.

But not getting up feels something like admitting defeat to Hamilton. It tastes suspiciously like asking for help which Thomas does not need, thank you very much. So, with aching muscles and a voice in his head telling him just to stay in bed, Thomas sits up and forces himself to his feet. He takes a cold shower, hoping the fever will break sooner rather than later, and finishes getting ready.

Hamilton is waiting at the bottom of the stairs with some toast, and they stand there in the hallway as Thomas dutifully eats. His stomach revolts the moment the first bite goes down, but he manages to wait until Hamilton is satisfied and goes to open the store before Thomas rushes for the bathroom. Retching until his stomach is empty and then some, Thomas wonders if he’ll ever be able to keep anything down ever again.

When he walks out into the storefront, put back together as best he can manage, he throws himself onto his stool in relief. Thomas never wants to walk again, at least not until he stops feeling like he’s roasting from the inside. For a moment, he considers downing an anti-nausea and an anti-fever potion, but he doesn’t think even _that_ will last in his system more than a few minutes.

_Besides,_ says the voice, _you deserve this. You’re the drunk. You’re the failure_. Thomas sighs, rubbing his temples before pulling out his sales and order records. He groans when he spots the bold, red writing that denotes that Maryam’s monthly delivery is meant for today. He glances at the form, he’s got everything in stock thank god. He’s halfway to convincing himself to start gathering it all when Hamilton emerges from the back.

“Hamilton!” Thomas calls, forcing his voice stronger than it wants to be. Hamilton looks over from where he’s just about to start cleaning one of the shelves. Thomas holds out the order form towards him. “Order to fill and deliver.”

Hamilton looks like he’s ready to protest, but then he looks at Thomas for a second longer and he just sighs. He stands, marches over to the counter, snatches the form from Thomas, scans it and marches off to the back. The moment he’s gone, Thomas lets out a sigh of relief. His legs feel like jelly and he’s just sitting down.

He pretends to have his nose buried in records when Hamilton comes back, a bag slung over his shoulder. “Going to Maryam’s,” he announces, dropping the bag just long enough to reach into his closet and pull out a jacket. Thomas grunts an acknowledgment, and Hamilton heads out. Thomas watches him head down the street towards Maryam’s animal ranch.

It feels like millennia before Hamilton returns. Thomas’ fever is getting worse, he is stifling in his robes. He has to force himself to focus on the words around his pounding headache. But he sets his jaw and keeps working on what he can do from his place behind the counter.

The ringing of the bell pulls Thomas’ attention up and he doesn’t think he’s been more relieved to see Hamilton. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with a customer on his own right now. The relief is short lived when he sees Hamilton’s excited grin.

Hamilton’s jacket is done up all the way to his neck, and his arms are arranged awkwardly by his right side. It almost looks like he’s trying to hold onto something, specifically a suspicious lump under his hands. It squirms and Hamilton gasps.

“Jefferson!” He calls, taking a slow step forward. Thomas’ eyes narrow.

“Whatever this is I already don’t like it,” he says. Hamilton’s eyes glint excitedly, and Thomas’ stomach tightens a little further.

“I got you something,” he says. The lump in his jacket wiggles again and Thomas eyes it.

“Whatever it is, take it back.”

Hamilton opens his mouth to reply, but the lump surges forward. Hamilton must lose his grip on it, because his hands desperately scrabble around his back. “Oh, come here you little...” Hamilton breathes, twisting as if he’s trying to scratch that part of your back you can’t reach. The lump reappears at the top of Hamilton’s left shoulder, heading for the collar.

And then a dragon sticks its head out of Hamilton’s jacket. Thomas’ eyebrows fly up his face, the pen in his hands drops to the counter with a tiny clatter. Hamilton looks at the creature sitting by his neck, and then up at Thomas with an anticipatory smirk.  
The dragon itself looks like it’s an Asian breed with two long, white whiskers on either side of its face. Yellow-green scales glint in the shop lights, the spinal ridges and pointed spikes along its jaw the same silvery white as the whiskers. Intelligent green eyes peer out from behind the long snout, and its’ mouth is parted enough for its’ tongue to loll out between pointed teeth.

Thomas and the dragon stare at one another for a still moment, and then with a rush of energy, the creature surges forward. It dives out of Hamilton’s jacket and to the floor, tiny feet stretched outward for the landing. Hamilton curses and tries to grab it but it’s far too fast and wriggly.

The dragon skitters across the tile floor, claws clicking as it tries to find purchase on the ground. Thomas leans over the counter to watch it stop in front of the wood, coil its’ body, and launch itself upwards. Thomas jerks backward as the dragon manages to plant its’ front feet on the countertop. Hamilton rushes forward, arms outstretched to grab it before it gets any further.

It struggles for a moment, then hauls the rest of its body to stand before Thomas. The long section of stomach between its pairs of feet wiggles so furiously, the creature’s back legs dance with the back and forth movement. The tail - which ends in a flair of tiny spikes - whips back and forth faster than Thomas’ eyes can see.

The dragon dances on the counter for a moment before growing impatient and throwing itself into Thomas’ lap. It lands heavily on all four paws, then rears up to plant the front two on Thomas’ stomach.

Thomas looks down at it in wonder. It’s so tiny, no thicker than his arm and no longer than a two feet nose to tail-tip. It looks back at Thomas, tail flicking back and forth so it hits against Thomas’ thighs.

“Hi,” is all Thomas can think to say. The dragon’s lips pull back over his teeth in the facsimile of a smile. Hamilton reaches the counter, hands curling around the edge as it seems both humans wait with baited breath.

The dragon pushes off Thomas’ legs, a surprising amount of strength in such tiny legs, and scrambles up Thomas’ chest. It crawls up Thomas until it reaches Thomas’ shoulders. It curls around Thomas’ neck and twists its head to look Thomas in the eye.

Thomas stares back, awestruck. _There’s a dragon_ _on his shoulders_. Little emerald eyes look into his, and Thomas is absolutely entranced. Slowly, as if moving in a dream, Thomas raises one hand and brings it close to the dragon’s face. He reaches up, fingertips just brushing the scales behind its’ neck flare.

The dragon leans into it, and Thomas can feel the lean muscle under the tiny scales. Thomas gently pets it, following the way the scales lie. The dragon’s eyes shut and it emits a little chirping sound. Thomas’ heart melts on the spot.

“Cute little guy, isn’t he?” Hamilton asks. If Thomas could tear his gaze away from the beautiful animal on his shoulders, he would see the victorious grin stretched across Hamilton’s face. “Maryam said his parents abandoned him ‘cuz he was too small so the ranch dogs adopted him. He doesn’t have a name yet -”

“His name is Cooper,” Thomas announces. Hamilton blinks, a grin stretching just the tiniest bit wider.

“You don’t want me to take him back?” Hamilton teases. Thomas glances away from Cooper for just a moment to level Hamilton with the deadliest gaze he thinks he’s ever given.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he says, and then his full attention is back to the dragon on his shoulders. “Hey there,” Thomas coos. “Nice to meet you, Cooper.” Cooper makes a emits a clicking sound from his throat.

“He’s three months old and eats a strict fruit diet,” Hamilton says. Thomas nods, a part of his brain - the only part somehow not losing its shit about _a dragon on his shoulders that’s his -_ absorbing the information. Thomas can feel where Cooper’s body is draped across his back, his back claws stuck into Thomas’ robe.

Thomas smiles gently down at Cooper, the dragon currently pushing its shoulder into Thomas’ hand for more contact. He doesn’t even notice Hamilton watching them from the other side of the counter. With a musical chirp, Cooper opens his eyes and pushes his head forward. The end of his snout connects with Thomas’ nose, but then Cooper recoils quickly.

Cooper blinks, head tilted curiously as he looks at Thomas. Thomas feels his smile start to slip until Cooper jumps from his shoulder to the top of Thomas’ head. Two little paws hand dig into his scalp and hair, and Thomas instinctively looks up as if he could see the top of his head. He can hear Cooper sniffing, feel his body drag across Thomas’ skin.

Cooper’s whiskers brush against Thomas’ face, and then Thomas feels the bottom of Cooper’s jaw settle against the center of his forehead. Cooper chirps again and then picks up his head to glare at Hamilton. Thomas looks between the sliver of yellow-green he can see and Hamilton.

Cooper makes a rasping noise like he’s trying to mimic a dog bark. “Hey now,” Thomas says, raising one hand to try and pet Cooper again. “Hamilton’s an asshole but - “

But Cooper dodges Thomas’ hand and ‘barks’ at Hamilton again. Hamilton’s brows furrow. “What is it?” He asks. Cooper extends his head out, paws slipping further towards Thomas’ hairline as if asking Hamilton to pet him.

Hamilton slowly reaches out, going for the spot just behind Cooper’s neck flare, but the dragon retreats. Hamilton stops moving, but another one of Cooper’s odd barks makes Hamilton try and touch him again. Cooper keeps moving, wriggling on Thomas’ scalp as Hamilton’s hand chases him back.

Just as Thomas starts to get uncomfortable, Hamilton jerks forward to try and reach Cooper. Cooper jerks out of the way and Hamilton’s hand collides with Thomas’ head.

“Hey, watch it,” Thomas snarls. He goes to lean back, but the shocked expression on Hamilton’s face makes him pause. A second later, Hamilton’s hand is spread over his forehead. Cooper chirps and dances in his spot on Thomas’ head. Thomas realizes what’s happened a heartbeat too late, and by the time he pushes Hamilton's’ hand away Hamilton is already speaking.

“You’ve got a fever!” He says. Thomas frowns.

“Yeah, and?” He says. He leans back on his stool, stopping when Cooper lets out a noise of alarm at the sudden shift in position. His hand flies up to give apologies in the form of stroking down Cooper’s side.

“You’re absolutely burning up, Jefferson,” Hamilton says. “You shouldn’t be working like that.”

“I’m fine,” Thomas says. He realizes that it’s become his catchphrase of late. Hamilton snorts in disbelief.

“The _dragon_ knew something was wrong, you’re that warm!” Hamilton comes around the counter to stand by Thomas’ stool. “Come on, you’re going to bed.”

“His name is Cooper,” Thomas protests. Cooper chirps, as if in agreement. Hamilton rolls his eyes and grabs Thomas by the arm not petting Cooper.

“Bed. Now.” Hamilton tugs on Thomas’ arm. How easily Hamilton manages to pull him into a standing position is a testament to how weak Thomas is. He considers fighting for a moment, but then the thought of his bed is suddenly very enticing. So Thomas lets Hamilton lead him out from behind the counter, trying to walk as smoothly as possible for the dragon on his head.

Cooper slides off Thomas’ head and wraps himself around Thomas’ neck, tight enough to stay on, but not anywhere near tight enough to even threaten Thomas’ breathing. It’s like wearing a scarf, but one that’s alive and is a dragon. _Holy shit I’ve got a dragon,_ Thomas thinks.

He’s so preoccupied with the realization that he has a _fucking dragon_ Thomas almost doesn’t notice when Hamilton leads him past the door to the back and towards the front of the shop. “Uh, wrong way Hamilton,” Thomas says, his free hand absentmindedly stroking along Cooper’s stomach.

“I am _not_ letting you go somewhere I can’t watch you,” Hamilton says. He marches Thomas to his closet door, throwing it open with his free hand,

“A bit creepy, don’t you think?” Thomas teases. Hamilton just growls in his throat and pulls Thomas to a familiar yellow comforter. Hamilton lets go of his arm and turns to glare at him with hard eyes.

“Outer robes off,” Hamilton commands. Thomas’ eyes narrow, and he thinks about refusing, but Hamilton’s bed looks so inviting and a memory of how soft it is surfaces. So, grumbling something about disrespectful apprentices, Thomas first reluctantly nudges Cooper from his spot on Thomas’ shoulders.

The dragon willingly drops onto Hamilton’s comforter, watching Thomas with twinkling green eyes as Thomas sheds his outer layers. He’s left standing in his loose shirt and what amounts to basically gym shorts. Hamilton, jaw set, points at his bed.

“Lie down,” he says, and Thomas willingly slides between Hamilton’s sheets. He remembered correctly as to how soft Hamilton’s bed is, and he sinks into it gratefully. Cooper marches over to the empty side of the bed, lowering his head to examine Thomas’ face. Thomas smiles at the creature as Cooper nuzzles into Thomas’ cheek.

Then something cool and thick hits Thomas’ forehead. He starts, head turning to find the source of the odd substance only to find Hamilton reaching down, fingers shining with an opaque gel. “What the fuck?” Thomas asks, reaching up to swat Hamilton’s hand away. Hamilton just rolls his eyes.

“It’s a healing salve, Jefferson,” he says. Thomas looks down at the blue jar in Hamilton’s other hand.

“What’s in it?” he asks. The last time he’d willingly taken something Hamilton had given him it had left him sober on the floor of his shop.

“Family recipe,” Hamilton says. Thomas’ jaw sets, and Hamilton sighs. “I’ll tell you when you’re better.” Hamilton reaches over to smear the stuff across Thomas’ forehead. Thomas lets him, glaring suspiciously the whole time. The jar in Hamilton’s hand is small and a deep blue color and Thomas catches a whiff of a familiar scent. He can’t quite place it, and before he gets the chance to ask to smell it, Hamilton is done and storing the jar away into a drawer.

“Sleep, you asshole,” Hamilton says. The sound of rustling sheets to his right makes catches Thomas’ attention, and when he looks over Cooper is making circles. The dragon drops to the bed, curling around until he’s watching Thomas with those smart, green eyes.

The fever, bed, and excitement of Cooper all finally hit Thomas like a brick wall, and his eyes are sliding shut before he knows what’s happening. He hears Cooper shift one last time, settling into the comforter.

Thomas thinks something presses gently into his temple, feather light and gone so quick Thomas probably imagined it. He’s so close to sleep that he doesn’t even get a chance to fully process it and decide if it’s real before he’s gone.


	8. Chapter 8

Thomas dreams, but they’re so distorted and feverish he doesn’t remember them even as he opens his eyes. He has flashes of images - James laughing, a wall of blood, a dragon - but nothing more than that and even then they fade quickly.

The only dream that sticks out in his mind is that of a little greenish dragon, one that had ridden on his shoulders and slept next to him. Thomas turns his head to where his fever-addled mind had hallucinated the creature on the bed to find it disappointingly empty. Of course he doesn’t have a dragon. Cooper was still a figment of childhood dreams.

With a sigh, Thomas sits up, feeling his whole body ache at the movement. Instantly, a flare of green in the corner of his vision attracts his attention. It’s an orb of magic, one the shade of Hamilton’s magic. He winces, a groan builds in his throat but before it sounds Hamilton is already throwing open the door.

Hamilton - one gardening glove still on his hand - marches into his bedroom and to Thomas’ bedside. “For a man who’s ‘just fine,’ you slept for a while.”

Thomas cocks an eyebrow. “No good morning?” He asks. Hamilton leans over the bed and has his hand on Thomas’ forehead before Thomas can shirk away. When Thomas pulls away, Hamilton follows, so Thomas just huffs and sits still. “You know, people usually ask before touching other people. Ever heard of ‘personal space?’”

Hamilton rolls his eyes, standing back up straight, but relief shines deep inside him. “Your fever’s broken,” he says. Thomas runs his hand through his hair. It’s stiff from sweat, but not soaked like it had been.

“What was that you put on my head?” Thomas asks. “Worked wonders.” Hamilton’s eye twitches, but he reaches into the bedside drawer and pulls out a familiar blue jar. He holds it out, and Thomas blinks down at the plastic label. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yep,” Hamilton says. “Vapor rub is miracle stuff without an ounce of magic inside.”

“You said it was a ‘family recipe,’” Thomas says, disappointed. He could have made a _fortune_ if that had been true. Hamilton shrugs.

“I lied. A lot of wizards don’t like using mortal stuff,” he explains. “Until, of course, they see how well it works.”

“Hamilton, I use mortal science to grow plants. What makes you think I would be against mortal medicine?”

Hamilton looks down at the jar in his hands. “Better safe than sorry, you stubborn dickhead.” Thomas rolls his eyes and throws off his covers. Hamilton's’ eyes widen as Thomas plants his feet on the floor. “Um, no. You’re staying in bed,” Hamilton says.

Thomas looks up at Hamilton incredulously. “Absolutely not,” he replies. Hamilton just shakes his head.

“You absolutely are.” Hamilton plants his hands on Thomas’ shoulders and tries to force him back down into the bed. Thomas stubbornly refuses to bend, even going so far as to struggle to stand under the force. “You are dangerously detoxing, and you need rest!” Hamilton protests.

“I need to keep my mind off of it,” Thomas admits.

“Get in bed or I _will_ call a doctor, and he’ll get you admitted somewhere and -”

“You wouldn’t,” Thomas challenges. Hamilton looks at him, fiery defiance in his eyes,

“Try me.” Hamilton’s face is set in a stony determination and he hasn’t let up on the pressure on Thomas’ shoulders. Something in his expression and demeanor tells Thomas that yes, Hamilton _will_ call a medical professional on him and the idea of getting committed somewhere sends chills down Thomas’ spine.

“Fine,” Thomas says. “But bring me the day’s paperwork.”

“What part of ‘resting’ do you not understand?” Hamilton asks, exasperated.

“I said, _bring me the paperwork_.” Thomas glares at Hamilton, matching his stubborn expression with his own. Hamilton’s eyes narrow.

“You’ll eat first,” he says. Before Thomas can argue, Hamilton is stalking away from the bed to the little kitchenette on the other side of the room. Thomas frowns, grabs a few of the pillows and stuffs them behind his back.

“How was your twenty-hour nap?” Hamilton asks. Thomas blinks.

“ _Twenty_ hours?” He asks. Hamilton nods.

“Slept the rest of the day and through the night.” He shoots Thomas a fake pout over his shoulder. “Little sick baby tired?” He asks in a voice one might actually use to talk to a baby.

“Fuck off,” Thomas says. He watches Hamilton’s back as he makes what looks like soup, tearing open a can and heating it up on the small stove.

“I mean, do you feel any better?” Hamilton asks. Thomas sighs.

“I’m _fine_.”

Hamilton rolls his eyes. “Yeah okay.” He stirs the soup absentmindedly. “It seemed like you were had a couple of nasty fever dreams. Do you remember any of them?”

Thomas frowns. “If I did, what makes you think I would tell you about my _dreams_?”

“Because sometimes _talking_ about things makes things better,” Hamilton says. Thomas scoffs.

“I don’t even remember any of them. Sorry, Mr. Freud,” Thomas drawls. Hamilton frowns, but just sighs and turns back to the pot. A flash of guilt hits Thomas - _See, you’re such an asshole. This is why everyone leaves you_ \- and he plays with the edge of the comforter.

“I remember one,” Thomas admits. “You bought me a dragon or something.” Hamilton looks over at Thomas, confusion on his face. Thomas snorts a laugh. “Yeah, right? I named it Cooper and -”

Thomas is cut off by something barreling into his stomach. He gets the wind knocked out of him from the impact, and he looks down.

“...holy shit you really did buy me a dragon,” Thomas says. Cooper chirps, tiny paws digging into Thomas’ legs even through the comforter. Hamilton laughs, a short barking sound.

“Yeah, he stayed with you. Except when he came to get food from me,” Hamilton says. “Gotta teach him biting is not an appropriate way to express hunger.” Hamilton holds up his free hand, and Thomas can see the tiny red bite marks on his skin. He looks down at Cooper and smiles.

“Awe, even the dragon thinks you deserve a biting,” Thomas says. “Good boy Cooper, good boy!” He scratches Cooper along his neck, the dragon clicking in contentment. “Such a good boy, yes you are!”

“ _Don’t_ encourage biting, maybe?” Hamilton says, ladling the soup into a bowl. He walks over to Thomas, holding the bowl carefully in his hands and puts it on the nightstand.

“Eh, everyone but you,” Thomas teases. Cooper dances in his lap as his hands travel around the dragon’s lean body. His tail whips back and forth like a dog’s wagging tail. Thomas feels the muscle shift underneath scales and suddenly it hits him.

He owns a motherfucking, honest-to-god, real dragon.

Thomas doesn’t recognize the squeal that escapes his lips. Hamilton bought him a _dragon_. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s thrown his arms around Hamilton’s waist. Thomas hugs Hamilton as tight as he can, even as Hamilton stiffens and shifts underneath him. “Thank you,” he breathes, and lets go. Hamilton is left standing there, slightly dazed, as Thomas turns his attention back to his - _his_ \- dragon.

He scoops Cooper up in his hands, holding him just under his front paws. He holds Cooper up so that they're eye-to-eye, the end of Cooper’s tail brushing the top of Thomas’ thighs. Thomas grins down at Cooper, and Cooper grins back - as best a dragon can grin, lips pulled over sharp teeth.

Cooper’s head pokes forward and he licks Thomas on the nose before nuzzling his cheeks. The long, fine whiskers on either side of Cooper’s snout tickle Thomas’ chin and throat. He chuckles at the sensation, and Cooper makes that light clicking sound.

“Time to eat,” Hamilton announces, picking up the bowl in his hands. Thomas reluctantly tries to put Cooper on the bedspread, but the dragon whines and goddamnit if it doesn't break Thomas’ heart.

“Mean ol’ Hamilton is making me eat so I can't hold you,” Thomas explains. Cooper huffs and - before Hamilton gets a chance to hand Thomas his soup - hops onto Thomas’ shoulders. Hamilton rolls his eyes and puts the bowl on Thomas’ lap.

“You're eating at least half of that,” Hamilton says. Cooper drapes himself around Thomas’ neck again, tiny head resting on his left shoulder. Thomas looks down into the bowl and cocks an eyebrow.

“Eat? This is mostly broth,” he observes. Hamilton nods.

“You haven't been able to keep anything solid down for days.”

Thomas frowns, but he can’t argue. He _knows_ his body needs nutrients, but even the base broth in front of him makes his stomach churn. Still, he tries his best, feeding himself as Hamilton ducks in and out to take care of customers.

Cooper watches Thomas eat, curiously following the spoon with his eyes. His little pink tongue flicks over his lips. Thomas eyes the dragon curiously, watching Cooper try and mimic Thomas blow on the steaming broth and drink it from the spoon. When Thomas doesn’t think he can eat anymore, he fills one last spoonful and offers it to Cooper.

Cooper blinks down at it, looks up at Thomas, and then back at the spoon. He takes a short breath, and ‘blows’ on the broth, mostly just exhaling a puff of air. Then his tongue flicks out to taste, whiskers perked curiously. Instantly, Cooper recoils, sticking his tongue out in disgust.

Thomas breaks out into laughter, earning a glare from Cooper. He makes the same raspy barking noise and tries to hide his face in Thomas’ neck. Thomas puts the spoon down in the bowl and reaches up to pet Cooper gently.

“Sorry Coop,” Thomas says through his last chuckles. “No soup for you, huh?” Cooper barks and then leans his head up to tap Thomas on the temple.

**_Bad_ **

Thomas blinks, the foreign thought bouncing around his head. He looks down at Cooper in surprise. “Thought you were only three months old buddy? Pretty young for telepathy,” He mutters, scratching gently behind Cooper’s neck frill.

**_Furry Not-Dragons_ **

“The dogs,” Thomas says. “They probably couldn’t understand you so you figured it out early. Smart boy.”

Cooper chirps, returning his head to Thomas’ shoulder. Thomas takes a deep breath, settling into Hamilton's headboard and pillows. He’ll be on his feet by tomorrow, Thomas figures. _Just humor Hamilton for one day. You’re fine_.

\--------------

Thomas spends the rest of the day confined to Hamilton’s bed, as well as the next two.  Thomas’ fever returns, then breaks again, back and forth. Hamilton sleeps on a couch on the opposite side of the apartment, but Thomas knows he doesn’t go to sleep before forcing Thomas to close his eyes.

Hamilton keeps threatening to tie Thomas to the bed - _“_ Kinky,” Thomas had teased - if Thomas doesn’t stop trying to work. Thomas listens, not out of any sense of need, but because the concept of being tied in place, possibly with _magical_ restraints, is not a pleasant one and it appears in a nightmare or two after Hamilton brings it up.

Thank God for Cooper, the little dragon stays by Thomas’ side whenever he’s awake, and he gets the sense that Cooper sticks by him while he’s asleep too. Hamilton ends up bringing cut up fruit to Thomas so Thomas can hand-feed Cooper himself. Thomas quickly discovers that Cooper prefers grapes and berries to, say, banana slices, but Cooper will eat just about anything you put in front of him once. He makes a mental note to remember that, to watch Cooper if he ever goes into any of the biomes or the alchemy lab.

He also discovers that, despite being three months old and already having a basic grasp of telepathy, Cooper cannot fly or breathe fire.

“He’s got wings,” Hamilton points out. “Maybe he’s just too little.”

Thomas shakes his head. “He should at least be playing with them, if not already flying. He keeps them tucked into his body.” Thomas runs his fingers along the edge of Cooper’s left wing. It’s held tightly to Cooper’s body, and Thomas hadn’t even seen the leathery wings at first. They blend into his body exceedingly well.

“I thought Chinese dragons didn’t even have wings,” Hamilton remarks.

“They don't,” Thomas says. “Coop must be a mutt.” At that comment, Cooper looks up at Thomas sharply from where he’s curled on Thomas’ lap. Cooper whips the end of his tail into Thomas’ leg sharply. “Hey!” Hamilton snorts as Cooper gives Thomas a smug look and settles back down.

“Maybe they don’t work then,” Hamilton says. “Like, they’re vestigial.” Thomas frowns, he hadn’t considered that.

“Even if they are, he shouldn’t need them. Chinese dragons fly just fine without wings.” Thomas absentmindedly strokes Cooper’s side as he tries to figure out why the he won’t fly. “Maybe he didn’t learn? Dogs can’t fly either after all.”

Hamilton nods, thinking. “Makes sense. Explains the lack of fireballs as well.” Thomas sighs, slowly running his hands underneath Cooper’s body. Instantly, the dragon flops over onto his stomach, and Thomas pets him on the stomach with one hand. Cooper chirps, tail flying back and forth as Thomas uses his other hand to feel along the underside of Cooper’s throat.

“He’s got both glands,” Thomas says, feeling the small lumps at the base of Cooper’s jaw. “But if he never learned, then he never learned.”

“How do you know so much about dragons?” Hamilton asks. Thomas’ hands still, earning a complaining chirp from Cooper. He looks down at the creature in his lap, going back to giving Cooper the attention he wants.

“I wanted one so bad as a kid, but they were completely illegal, instead of just _mostly_ illegal like they are now. So I just learned everything I could. I was _obsessed_.” Thomas smiles down at Cooper, the dragon’s head lolled to the side and tongue sticking out. “Thought I grew out of it.”

Hamilton hums, and Thomas looks up to find him smiling, as if fondly, at the two of them. The moment Hamilton sees him look, the smile turns mocking. “You giant nerd,” he teases. Thomas rolls his eyes.

“At least I know how to take care of the pet _you_ bought,” Thomas says. “Count yourself lucky.”

“Yeah, yeah. Eat your fucking toast. It’s probably cold,” Hamilton says. Thomas rolls his eyes, letting go of Cooper to reach over and grab a slice of toast from the nightstand. Cooper whines, but when he realizes that belly rubs really are over, for now, he wiggles back onto his feet with a disappointed huff. Thomas looks down at the dragon.

“He really should know how to fly, and if his fire glands get backed up or infected, it could be really bad.” Thomas looks up at Hamilton. “We have to teach him.” Hamilton blinks.

“Oh yeah, let me just teach a _dragon_ how to fly. I’ll just go unfold my wings and take him for a trip around town,” he drawls. “I can’t teach him that!”

Thomas looks at him flatly. “At least flying’s a physical action. I’d be more worried about teaching him firebreathing.”

“You’re serious about this,” Hamilton says as if he’s just realizing it. “You actually think we should.” Thomas nods, and Hamilton looks down at Cooper. “Bet I can teach him to fly before you can teach him to breathe fire.”

Thomas blinks. “You said you couldn’t do that.”

“You said it yourself, might be easier than the fire.” Hamilton sticks his hand out. “Do we have a bet?”

“What’re the stakes?”

“Bragging rights,” Hamilton says. Thomas smirks and grabs Hamilton’s outstretched hand.

“You’re going to regret this kid,” Thomas challenges. Hamilton’s eyes light up, glimmering in excitement.

“You’re on.”

\--------------

Thomas wakes from nightmare, sweating, shaking, almost screaming with James' name locked on the end of his lips. He thrashes, there’s something on his chest, a pressing weight that makes him feel like he can’t breathe. There’s quick footsteps, the sound of a dragon call, _the enemy has a dragon -_

“Jefferson,” Hamilton calls. “It’s just a nightmare, you’re okay.” Thomas stops, blinking in the darkened room up at a familiar face. Thomas’ throat is dry, his hand throbs faintly from where he must have hit it on something.

Hamilton hovers at the side of the bed, hands held out in the air like he couldn’t decide if he should touch Thomas or not. The weight on his chest moves, spreading out to four points and when Thomas looks down he finds Cooper looking at him with concern in those huge green eyes.

Thomas lets out a pent up breath, feeling his heart thud in his chest. He swallows, shaking hands stretching out to run against Cooper’s flanks. There’s a tense moment of silence, Hamilton waiting on pins and needles.

“I’m okay,” Thomas says. “Go back to bed.”

Hamilton’s eyes search Thomas’ face, his jaw sets. He carefully sits on the side of the bed, watching for a sign Thomas isn’t okay with his actions. “Do you want to talk about it?” Hamilton offers, quietly.

_What do you want to know?_ Thomas thinks. _How much of what I’ve seen do you want to know about?_ But he doesn’t ask. Instead he shakes his head. His whole body still feels electric, like a coiled spring. He doesn’t want to go back to sleep, not after watching a city burn in his mind’s eye.

“Do you think you can sleep?” Hamilton asks. Thomas hesitates, and Cooper pads up his chest to run head against Thomas’ cheek. Thomas can feel Cooper’s fluttering heartbeat under his hands, and it’s oddly grounding.

“Go back to bed, Hamilton,” Thomas says. Hamilton shakes his head.

“Not if you’re going to be up,” he says. Thomas frowns, but Hamilton is already explaining: “What if you need something?”

“I’m not a child, I can take care of myself,” Thomas says. Hamilton grinds his jaw.

“At least try and go back to sleep,” Hamilton pleads. Thomas sighs.

“Too wound up,” he admits. Hamilton frowns, scoots forward towards Thomas’ head.

“Take a few deep breaths,” Hamilton says, voice low and soothing, like one might use to calm a fussy child. “Shut your eyes and relax your body bit by bit.” Thomas finds himself complying, his DT wrecked body needing the sleep. Hamilton’s voice runs around him, Thomas loses the words but the cadence of them is calming.

Thomas feels his breathing start to even out, the storm in his head clearing. Cooper crawls back to Thomas’ chest, curling and laying down just above Thomas’ heart. The pressure is so nice, even as Hamilton straightens the sheets around Thomas. And then there’s a tentative hand on his forehead.

Hamilton runs his hand along Thomas’ scalp, rubbing little circles with light fingertips as he goes. If Hamilton is waiting for Thomas to tell him to stop, he’s not going to get the command. The little contact he gets makes him almost want more, it’s been too long since anyone’s touched him like this. He doesn’t count Hamilton holding him during his breakdown, he hardly even remembers what it felt like he’d been so numb, drunk and upset.

He doesn’t dare ask, though. It’s not Hamilton’s job to pity him, despite everything over the past few days. No, Thomas doesn’t deserve any more than this, he doesn’t deserve _this_ even. Thomas is a worthless wreck, useless in every sense of the word.

With a thought to ask Hamilton ‘why,’ Thomas succumbs to sleep.

\--------------

Thomas’ fever breaks for the last time on his third day of bedrest, and Hamilton finally lets him up on day four. He still won’t let Thomas do anything besides desk work, sales and maybe some shelving. Hamilton keeps coming into the store front to check to make sure Thomas isn’t doing cartwheels or whatever Hamilton thinks Thomas is going to do if he doesn’t poke his head in every ten minutes.

“You’d think _I_ was the apprentice,” Thomas mutters to Cooper, who’s lying on Thomas’ shoulders again. Cooper clicks, and shifts up to nibble at Thomas’ earlobe. Thomas reaches below the counter and pulls out a grape and offers it to the dragon. Cooper snaps it up, spraying grape juice on Thomas’ neck and the counter. Thankfully none of it sprays on the sale book.

Thomas looks down at the book and sighs. There’s not really anything to do with it except stare at entries and price totals. So he shuts the book, pushes it off to the side and looks around the shop for something to attract his attention. Cooper huffs, obviously just as bored as Thomas. Thomas is lazily petting Cooper when he remembers his bet with Hamilton.

“Hey Coop,” Thomas says, reaching around to pick the dragon up from his shoulders. “We’re going to do something.” He puts Cooper on the countertop, and Cooper instantly turns around to try and hop back onto Thomas’ shoulders. “No, sit.”

Cooper whines, but plants his but on the counter, facing Thomas. “Good boy,” Thomas coos, reaching out to hold Cooper’s neck gently. He feels along the underside of his jaw and neck until he finds the fire glands on either side. He gently rubs along the small bulges, and Cooper chirps, squirming slightly.

“Okay boy, I’m going to try and teach you how to be a dragon,” Thomas says. Cooper chirps again, wiggling his head to try and look Thomas in the eye, but Thomas holds him still. Gently - he’s only read about this, never seen it done - Thomas presses down on Cooper’s throat, massaging upwards.

Cooper’s mouth, already parted slightly, opens even further and breathes heavily. The scent of his breath changes and Thomas grins. _That’s working, okay_.

“Alright Coop,” Thomas starts. “What you’re going to do is you’re going to is gather a bunch of that gas in your mouth and blow really hard.” Cooper looks up at him, confusion in his eyes. “Like this.” Thomas purses his lips and blows air as hard as he can. Cooper chirps confusedly. Thomas watches him inhale sharply, and dodges out of the way. His hands let go of Cooper’s throat as he jumps out of the way of what he thinks will be a fireball.

Except it’s not. Cooper just blows a harmless stream of air at the wall, and then looks at Thomas. He chirps again, wagging his tail. Thomas slowly comes back to sit on the stool again. Cooper lunges forward and plants his snout on Thomas’ forehead.

**_Did it_ **

Thomas chuckles. “Not quite, Coop.” Cooper makes a raspy barking sound.

**_Did it. Want purple juice ball._ **

Thomas barks a laugh. “It’s called a _grape_.”

**_Want_ **

“Okay okay,” Thomas says, reaching for the bowl of grapes beneath the counter. “But this isn’t over.” Cooper accepts the offered grape, rearing onto his hind legs and holding it between his front paws. Thomas watches him devour it greedily. When he’s done, Cooper looks up at Thomas and blows another stream of air in his face.

**_Did it_ **

\--------------

Hamilton lets Thomas go stay in his apartment after a week of sleeping in Hamilton’s bed. He has never been so grateful to see the dust-coated furniture and remains of his drinking habit. He still has tremors, a pounding headache and eating is still touch-and-go, but Thomas is feeling far better than the last time he was in his room.

He brings Cooper up with him, watching the small dragon zip around the apartment. Thomas slowly cleans up empty bottles, putting them in a box and marching downstairs to where Hamilton is waiting for them.

“I still think you need to let me up there,” Hamilton says.

“You not being in my apartment is the one rule you haven’t managed to break so far,” Thomas replies, already shutting the door. “Let's keep it that way.”

When Thomas makes it back to his living room, Cooper is standing on the coffee table. The entire place smells of booze and Thomas cracks open the window. He makes sure to leave the screen in place - Cooper might be a dragon but a fall from a second-story window wouldn’t be great, especially since Hamilton’s attempts to get him to fly have been just as successful as Thomas’ firebreathing lessons.

Thomas spends most of the day cleaning his place, picking up old clothes and setting a wash, dusting, and vacuuming. Cooper hides from the vacuum, only stopping his whining when Thomas turns it off and spends time trying to calm the shaking dragon. When Cooper trusts the ground enough to get back on it, the sun is setting.

“Alright Coop, time for bed,” Thomas says, picking Cooper up and cradling him like one might a baby. Cooper wiggles, but lets Thomas hold him in his arms. Thomas’ body is tired, still worn out from the end of the detoxing period and a day of minor labor cleaning. He carries Cooper into his bedroom, deposits him onto the bed and goes to change into his bedclothes. When he turns around and climbs into bed, Cooper crawls up next to him.

**_Sleep time?_ **

Thomas nods, already feeling his body grow heavy. Cooper wiggles in place.

**_Go nest._ **

“Yes Coop, go nest,” he mutters. Cooper huffs, and suddenly a mental image of Hamilton’s bed fills Thomas’ head.

**_Go nest!_ **

Thomas realizes what Cooper means and shakes his head. “That’s Hamilton’s bed, Cooper. This is mine.”

**_Go nest_**.

“I am in bed,” Thomas replies. Cooper looks at him, huffs.

**_Bad nest. Go good nest._ **

_I mean, Hamilton’s bed is more comfortable,_ Thomas thinks, but he doesn’t speak it aloud. _But no. That’s his bed and this is mine_. He’s not sure if Cooper hears him or not, the dragon simply lets out a breath like a sigh and curls up to sleep. Thomas follows him a moment later.

When he awakes, it’s to Cooper standing on his chest and sniffing his face. Thomas groans when he sees how early it is, the morning sun only just starting to poke through the window. Logically, it’s when he usually gets up, but Hamilton had been letting him sleep in.

So Thomas pats Cooper’s flank until he moves and climbs out of bed. Yawning, he reaches for the nightstand only to have his fingers close around air. _I must have finished off the bottle last night,_ Thomas thinks. _I’ll just make a detour to the kitchen -_

Except he can’t, because there’s no more alcohol in the apartment. Thomas doesn’t drink anymore, at least not for the rest of the month. So instead of heading for the kitchen aimlessly, Thomas drags himself to the bathroom and turns on his shower. Cooper curls up in the sink while Thomas washes himself.

His hands don’t shake as much anymore, he actually feels in control of the bottles and soap for the first time in a long while. When he gets out, the room is slightly steamy and he wraps himself in a towel. Cooper climbs out of the sink dutifully when Thomas comes to stand before it. Thomas wipes enough of the fog from the mirror to see himself.

He looks at himself, he _thinks_ the bags under his eyes have disappeared a bit. HIs stomach growls and Thomas surprises himself by having an appetite. He really seems to be on the downhill slide of this. But his head is still pounding, throbbing at the front of his skull and behind his eyes.

And it’s there, looking at the hazy him in the mirror, that Thomas remembers that he needs glasses. The realization hits him like a slap to the face. _Oh, right, I’m blind,_ Thomas thinks. He tries to remember when the last time he actually wore his glasses would be, or even where they might be but comes up empty.

He rolls his hands on the counter, looking down, trying to remember. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots them, covered in dust in the corner of the sink. Not quite believing his luck, Thomas picks them up, blows the dust off, and slides them on.

The world instantly comes into a focus he hasn’t had in a long time. Everything is so sharp, lines and edges clean where they had been blurred before. He looks down at Cooper and his heart melts. Cooper’s not just one solid color. Thomas can see every little scale on Cooper’s body, sees how the yellow and green intertwine, fade.

And Cooper’s face? Thomas is in awe, how can one living creature be that gorgeous and adorable all at once? He almost can’t look away, but he manages to tear his eyes away in favor of looking in the mirror.

Thomas blinks in shock, his face is _not_ how he remembers it. His skin looks awful and is that _really_ how long his beard’s gotten? He grimaces, running his hands across his chin and cheeks. He flicks on the tap, splashing warm water in his face. Cooper curiously sticks his snout under the stream as Thomas examines his face again.

_When was the last time you looked in a mirror?_ Hamilton’s accusation comes back to him as he starts to search his drawers for shaving cream and a razor.

\--------------

Thomas comes down the stairs, feeling better than he has in forever, Cooper draped around his shoulders. He had managed to eat from his own kitchen and he’s wearing an entirely clean set of clothing. He’s even managed to do something with his hair, which had been lifeless and dull but now fanned around his head like it used to do.

He heads out into the shop front where Hamilton is carrying bags of fertilizer to their proper spot in the front of the store. He goes behind the counter to reach for the shop keys but comes up empty. “Hamilton,” he calls, stopping the man halfway down an aisle. “Do you have the keys?”

“Yeah, needed them to unload -” Hamilton stops, head turned over his shoulder to talk to Thomas. The bags of fertilizer in his hands tumble to the ground, landing with heavy _thumps_. “The, uh…” Hamilton stutters. “The delivery…” One of his hands motions vaguely to the piles of fertilizer, his eyes still glued on Thomas.

Thomas, for his part, doesn’t notice Hamilton’s staring because he’s too busy staring himself. Hamilton is no longer a blur of hazily-defined features and running colors, he’s an actual human being with a face. A not unhandsome one either; quite the opposite Thomas finds. Young, and unwrinkled, all brown eyes and tan skin. There are slight discolored bags under his eyes, but nothing beyond the ordinary. He’s wearing nothing but a tank-top, strong arms bare and he’s covered in dirt.

Hamilton manages to tear his eyes away first, bending over too quickly pick up the bags he dropped and scurrying to put them away. On Hamilton’s way to the back, Thomas can see the way Hamilton’s eyes flick to and away from Thomas, like Hamilton is trying to command himself not to stare.

Thomas smiles. He knows he’s pretty good looking, at least he had been when he kept himself up. The attention makes his heart leap and the smile on his face grow wider each time Hamilton looks his way. He likes it.

Up until the first customers start arriving. Regulars give him appreciative glances; one compliments him on how nicely he cleans up, another asks if there’s something Thomas has to do today. He doesn’t mind the young woman who blushes when he looks her way.

No, Thomas doesn’t start to realize what he’s done until the whispers start. He can just hear them as he passes by a couple in order to reach something on a high shelf for another customer. He sees the side-long glances from the elderly man. He knows what’s happening before the first person comes to ask; “Hey, I’m sorry, but are you _the_ Thomas Jefferson?”

He’s being recognized.

“Wow, I’m sorry,” a middle-aged man says. “I knew your name was Jefferson, but with the long beard and everything…”

Thomas plasters the best smile across his face that he can. Cooper shifts restlessly against his neck and shoulder. He listens to a woman talk about how she decided to join the force when she saw Thomas give a speech in her hometown.

The next few days are the busiest days Thomas has ever seen. It’s not even that more people are coming to buy things, they just come to gawk. Word must be spreading that Mr. Jefferson that runs the botanica down the road is a war hero. Someone asks for an autograph and Thomas just about loses it.

He takes to hiding in the back and Hamilton starts telling people that Thomas has fallen ill. He only pops into the front of the shop before and after operating hours to help with setup and inventory. Other than that, he stays in the greenhouse and alchemy lab.

The store has never had this much product on the shelves before.


	9. Chapter 9

One night, after closing, Thomas walks into the shop to find Hamilton flapping his arms up and down like a maniac. Cooper stands on the countertop, looking up at him with the same amount of confusion and concern that Thomas feels.

“Flying, Coop! Fly!” Hamilton urges. Cooper just sort of shrinks back slightly, and Thomas shuts the door on them.

\--------------

Thomas hears the door to the greenhouse open and breathes a sigh of relief. “Hamilton!” He calls from inside the marine biome.

“Yeah?” Hamilton calls back through the glass.

“Get in here, we’ve got a problem.”

Hamilton opens the door to the marine tanks, still holding a pair of clippers in his hand. “This better be good, I need to trim the perfumer.” He looks around, eyeing the waist-high tanks. “What is it?”

Before Thomas can answer, Cooper does it for him, breaking the surface of the water in a gentle arc. He dives back down and disappears into the depths of the warm, freshwater tank. Hamilton blinks. “Oh!”

“Yeah,” Thomas says. “One of us has to go after him.” Hamilton looks up at him warily.

“And I assume that by ‘one of us,’ you mean me.”

“I mean, if you’re offering…” Thomas trails. Hamilton rolls his eyes and walks up to the tank Cooper’s in. It’s not very wide or long, just ten feet by ten feet, but Thomas knows it extends far into the ground. Hamilton kicks off his shoes and pulls his socks off. “I’ve got a dive suit and oxygen -”

“And I’ve got magic,” Hamilton counters. He whips his wand out of his pocket, sticks it between his teeth and goes to pull off his shirt.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Thomas rushes up beside him. “What the hell are you doing?” Hamilton cocks an eyebrow, shirt already halfway up his torso.

“Getting ready to jump in?” Hamilton says around the wand.

“You can’t just strip!” Thomas insists.

“Do you want me to jump in clothed?” Hamilton asks. “That’ll slow me down and tire me out.”

“I’ve got a dive suit,” Thomas says. “Or why not just magic your clothes dry.”

“Because I’ll already have two or three spells going, _and_ I’ll be chasing after a dragon.” Hamilton takes his shirt off and throws it at Thomas. “Hold this.” Before Thomas can protest, Hamilton is already shoving his pants down. He steps out of them, Thomas looking away sharply.

“Please keep your boxers on?” Thomas pleads. Hamilton scoffs.

“Of course! What do you think I am, an idiot?” He asks, before hopping over the side of a sixty-foot tank of water. His head disappears below the waves for a moment, before he bobs back to the surface. Hamilton’s long hair clings to his head as he breathes in air.

Hamilton points his wand to his face, and tendrils of forest-green light emit from the tip. They envelop Hamilton’s whole body, a strand of it reaching inside his mouth and forming a separate little bubble around his head. He shoves his wand back between his teeth, still managing to keep the magic going.

“Hamilton!” Thomas calls, only to watch Hamilton dive below the surface again. For a moment, it’s silent, once the ripples from Hamilton’s decent disappear the surface is perfectly smooth. Thomas searches the water for a hint of either Hamilton or Cooper.

Then, with a momentous splash, Cooper comes rocketing out of the deep, followed shortly by Hamilton. Cooper manages to leap a good couple of feet out of the water, far out of Hamilton’s outstretched hands. For a second, Thomas thinks Cooper is flying, but the arc and the way Cooper starts to fall back to the water proves him otherwise.

Hamilton curses, his hands flailing to catch a squirming dragon mid-air. Cooper hits the water again, tries to dive, but Hamilton manages to throw himself underneath where Cooper wants to go, forcing the dragon to stay on the surface. Cooper swims - a doggy-paddle, Thomas notices - away from Hamilton, trying to bolt back to the center.

And Hamilton chases him, Cooper letting out chirps and shrieks of joy. He must think it’s a game of some sort, but Thomas can’t stop worrying about him, Hamilton, and all the living plants somewhere in that tank.

Somehow, Hamilton manages to corner Cooper by the wall Thomas is at, and Thomas acts quickly, plunging his hands into the tank to pull Cooper out. He’s much harder to hold onto while wet, but Thomas manages to lift him into the air and keep him in his hands long enough to jog out of the marine biome entirely.

Cooper practically leaps from Thomas’ arms the instant Thomas’ grip slackens to open the door, but he’s already out into the hallway and Thomas stubbornly refuses to let Cooper past. The dragon whines, flicking his tail and scratching at the glass beside the door.

“No, Coop. That’s not for you,” Thomas admonishes. Cooper whines, and then launches himself at Thomas. He crawls up Thomas’ shirt front until he makes contact with Thomas’ skull.

**_Want swim_ **

“I know buddy, but not in there, okay?” Thomas asks. He turns around to spot Hamilton climbing out of the tank. He’s dripping wet, and Thomas can see muscles straining in his arms as Hamilton pushes himself out of the water. He lands solidly on his feet in one graceful, athletic move.

Thomas’ eyes widen as Hamilton straightens. Water glistens on tan skin, and Hamilton practically _glows_ under the lights. His hands come up to push his hair out of his face, and he turns around to search for his clothing.

Hamilton bends down to pick up his shirt and Thomas realizes in a flash that Hamilton’s boxers are both white and soaked. They leave little to Thomas’ imagination - clinging to Hamilton’s skin as they are - as Hamilton gathers his clothes in a pile. Then he stands again, one hand trying to keep his hair in line, making his back muscles flex.

And then he turns back around, trying to squeeze the water from his hair, and Thomas gets an eyeful. Hamilton isn’t sculpted, he’s softer, but Thomas can still tell that he’s in shape. And then his eyes travel downward and that stretch of wet fabric is _not_ concealing much of anything at all.

Cooper jerks away from Thomas’ head, breaking the connection between them and Thomas feels his face heat up. He turns back around before Hamilton can catch him looking. Cooper clicks, curling around Thomas’ shoulders and soaking water into his robes.

When Hamilton finally emerges from the biome, he’s only part of the way dressed in only his pants on while he uses his shirt as a makeshift towel.

“Can I get an actual towel?” Hamilton grumbles, running his shirt over his head. Thomas keeps his gaze pointedly fixed on the space above Hamilton’s head, even as wet locks tumble around Hamilton’s face.

“You shouldn’t have just jumped in there,” Thomas says. “You could have horribly messed up the balance of chemicals in the water or the PH level or -”

“Wow, no ‘Thank you, Hamilton, for rescuing my precious baby?’” Hamilton rolls his eyes. “Figures.” Thomas frowns, desperately trying not to look any farther down than he needs to.

“There are towels in the supply cupboard,” Thomas says. Hamilton just huffs and marches off, Thomas unable to keep himself from one last glance at the man’s ass.

_Stop it, Thomas,_ he admonishes himself. _He’s your apprentice and absolutely insufferable._

A quieter voice in the back chimes up _He’d never be interested in you, you worthless human being. He’ll just leave you like everyone else._

\--------------

The mail, if there is any, comes in with the weekly delivery the shop take in. Thomas is moving a crate full of blue fortune flower sprouts when the delivery man offers him two envelopes. He hands Hamilton the crate - the last one, thank God - and takes it. He passes the delivery man his usual tip before taking a chance to look the top letter. When he sees the sender’s address, his heart stops.

Written there in looping handwriting is the name Gilbert Lafayette.

Thomas’ breath catches in his throat. Five years. _Five years_ without contact and Lafayette sends him a letter out of the blue? For the first time in a while, Thomas can’t blame the shaking of his hands on anything related to alcohol. Does he open it? Does he give Lafayette this chance -

“Oh, that’s for me,” Hamilton says, yanking the letters out of Thomas’ hands. “Thanks.” Thomas blinks, utterly taken aback at the turn of events.

“What?” Thomas breathes, but Hamilton is already tearing open the seal on the first one. “Hamilton, wait - ”

The letter flies out of Hamilton’s hands to float in mid-air. Hamilton’s eyes widen as he realizes what’s about to happen, and tries to grab for it but it’s too late. The letter bucks, opens the flap of the envelope, and Hamilton flinches.

“ _Alexander Hamilton!_ ” The letter shouts in a deeply French-accented voice, one Thomas remembers well. Hamilton winces. “ _Je ne peux pas croire à la gueule que tu as!_ ” The letter continues to yell in French, Hamilton slowly shrinking into himself, and Thomas struggles to comprehend. It’s been years since he heard spoken French, and with the speed and gusto the howler is shouting at, Thomas doesn’t stand a chance.

Under the letter’s barrage, Hamilton slowly turns bright red. “ _Toi, mon élève préféré, mon ami, n'arrêtez-toi même pas de dire au revoir? L'insulte!_ ” Hamilton’s eyes snap back and forth between the letter and Thomas. Thomas just watches, uncomprehending of Lafayette’s impassioned speech. The shouting goes on for quite some time, eventually attracting the attention of Cooper, the dragon wandering in from Hamilton’s closet.

“ _Je m'attends à une lettre de retour en demandant bientôt tus excuses pour tus erreurs!_ ” The letter shouts in Hamilton’s face. Then it pulls back, floating almost benevolently. “Deepest love, Lafayette,” it finishes amicably and then bursts into shreds. Cooper chirps, rushing to play with the falling strands of paper.

“Shit,” Hamilton mutters. “Fuck, shit.” A guilty expression plays across his face and Thomas does not need a translator to get the concept of what just happened. Hamilton looks down at the other letter in his hands, and groans. “He sent a second one?” He whines. He looks up at Thomas. “I’ll just take this into another room.”

Hamilton turns to go, and Thomas knows with every fiber of his being, that he shouldn’t ask. Asking is only going to make him upset, there’s no other end to this line of conversation. He shouldn’t ask, he most definitely shouldn’t ask.

But since when has Thomas ever acted in his own best interest?

“How do you know Marq?” Thomas calls after Hamilton. Hamilton stops, turns with a confused look.

“Marq?” He asks.

“Lafayette,” Thomas clarifies. Hamilton’s eyes light up in understanding.

“ _Marquis_ got it,” he says. “Laf’s the alchemy professor under Washington. How do _you_ know him?”

Thomas’ face etches into a frown. “Old acquaintances,” he says. It almost feels like the truth. Hamilton looks at him for a moment, brow furrowing.

“Did you fight with him?” He asks, softly, like Thomas will shatter at the words. Thomas’ frown deepens.

“Yes.” Thomas folds his arms. Hamilton is quiet for a moment, both of them trying to figure out how - or if - the conversation should keep going. “How is he?” Thomas offers.

“He’s doing really well,” Hamilton says. “He got married during my first year.”

“Adrianne?” Thomas asks. Hamilton nods.

“He’s got a couple of kids, actually. Twin boys, Georges and Jeffery,” Hamilton says, a little smile gracing his face. Thomas blinks.

“ _Jeffery?_ ” He asks. Hamilton snorts.

“Yeah, I know, awful name. But he named him after a friend of his.” Hamilton’s face lights up. “Do _you_ know Jeffery? Lafayette talks about him all the time, but nobody’s ever met him.” Thomas’ eye twitches.

“I don’t know him,” Thomas says. Hamilton sighs in disappointment.

“Damn it,” he breathes. “I just wanna meet the guy. Lafayette won’t shut up. ‘Once, me and Jeffery’ this and ‘Jeffery and I’ that. The only other person he talks about like that is ‘Mads,’ but -” Hamilton cuts off, realization playing across his face. “Oh,” he breathes, looking up at Thomas. “Oh my god.”

“Well, I’ll go put this away,” Thomas says, picking up the nearest box without looking at what it is. He tries to rearrange his face to be neutral again, but the damage has been done. Hamilton grabs for him, latching onto his arm.

“ _You’re_ Jeffery,” Hamilton says. Thomas just tears his arm out of Hamilton’s grip and marches away, still holding the crate. “Wait, Jefferson -”

“Don’t,” Thomas snaps, but since when has Hamilton ever listened?

“Laf _always_ talks about you. You don’t know how much he misses you and how much he loves you -”

“I said _don’t_ , Hamilton,” Thomas interrupts. Hamilton cuts in front of him, blocking his path. He looks up at Thomas, a million questions in his eyes. Hamilton settles for one:

“What happened between you two?”

“None of your goddamned business,” Thomas growls and shoves the crate into Hamilton’s arms. It knocks the other man off balance enough for Thomas to push past him. He marches towards his apartment, but instead of going for the door, Thomas reaches up and brushes his hand against the painting hanging on the wall just beside it.

Instantly the hidden door just beside the apartment door appears in his vision, and Thomas yjanks it open. He hears Hamilton gasp, and when he turns around to slam the door he sees the surprised, confused look on his face. Thomas feels something slide by his ankles, but he slams the door shut so hard he feels the wall rattle.

Then it’s silent. Thomas looks at the wooden door in front of him, lets out a breath, and turns slowly. Stretching out in front of him is a stone path that weaves through an expanse of greenery. On either side of him are large banana leaves, draping over so that when Thomas steps forward, if he turned around, the door would be disguised.

Light blue flowers line the walkway as Thomas makes his way down the path. A small chirp by his feet drags his eyes down to find Cooper padding along beside him. The moment Cooper sees Thomas looking at him, he launches himself up to grab onto Thomas’ thigh and slowly crawl up to Thomas shoulders.

Thomas walks down the garden path in silence, Cooper’s breathing and his footsteps are the only sounds. Ferns, stretching out their leaves over the path, stretch on both sides of the path, When Thomas reaches the fork in the path he turns right, walking along until he comes across the first stylized lily.

The yellow flowers poke out between rosemary bushes, the light purple flowers providing a gentle contrast. Beyond the bushes, the lilies continue back through a smattering of multicolored iris flowers. Red, white and blue emerge as the color pattern, erupting in a beautiful centerpiece of blossoms.

_He misses you,_ Hamilton’s words echo in Thomas’ head. Thomas takes a deep breath, looking over Lafayette’s section of his garden. Behind him is James’ center, and beyond that is Washington’s. If Thomas was to continue along, he’d find the back right corner and the sparse back lot he never figured out what to do with.

But for now, Thomas sits down on the path and looks out over the lilies and flowers. The soil underneath the French flowers is pulled straight from a Virginian grassland. He counts how many stylized lilies have bloomed, he hasn’t been back here to keep up the planted pattern in a long time.

_It’s your fault!_ Thomas hears his own shouting voice come back to him. _If you’d been there you could have saved him!_ Thomas shuts his eyes as memories - ones long suppressed - come flooding back.

_Put the bottle down, Thomas._

_No, fuck you._ _Mads is dead and it’s your fault._

_It’s no one’s fault, please, calm down. I’m just trying to help -_

A wine bottle shatters in Thomas’ head and he lets out a choked noise. Thomas buries his face in his hands, trying to hold back the tears.

_Get away from me. I don’t want to see your face ever again._

_Thomas -_

_I said get out!_

Cooper whines against Thomas’ neck as Thomas starts to cry. His last conversation with Lafayette plays through his mind over and over again.

“I ruin everything Coop,” Thomas grits out. Cooper reaches up to touch Thomas lightly on the head.

**_Hooman?_ **

“You ought to leave before I mess something up and hurt you too,” he says. Cooper huffs against Thomas’ skin.

**_Hooman never hurt Cooper._ **

“You should go live with Hamilton. Go with him when he leaves.”

**_No._ **

Cooper wraps his body tightly around Thomas’ head, the pressure and warmth oddly comforting.

**_Never._ **

Cooper ends up sitting there, running his tail through Thomas’ hair as he cries and chirp-singing. Thomas completely loses track of time but his head hurts by the time he manages to compose himself. He wipes the tear tracks from his face and walks around the triangular path until the feeling in his legs return. He doesn’t speak, just lets his breathing even.

When he finally heads for the door back to the hallway, he’s expecting Hamilton to be gone, sulking over their argument. But when Thomas slides out of his garden Hamilton is pacing the walls. Thomas shuts the door and Hamilton jumps, looking up at Thomas with wide eyes.

“What the fuck?!” Hamilton screeches, rushing to Thomas’ side and feeling his hands along the wall. The door fades from Thomas’ view even as Hamilton runs his hands along it. “Where did you go? What did you do?”

“What?” Thomas asks, confused until he realizes what that probably looked like to Hamilton.

“I couldn’t even find it with spells!” Hamilton says. “How did you go right through the wall?”

“Hamilton,” Thomas grabs Hamilton’s arm, stopping his assault on the wall. Hamilton looks up at him. There’s worry still etched on Hamilton face, and Thomas doesn’t have the energy to make himself look okay.

“Are you alright?” Hamilton asks. Thomas takes a slow breath.

“I didn’t drink if that’s what you’re asking,” he says. Hamilton shakes his head.

“Not the question. Are you _alright_?”

“I’m fine,” Thomas responds. “Did you put everything away?”

Hamilton shakes his head. “Too busy trying to figure out where you went,” he explains. Thomas grits his jaw and glances at the wall where he knows the door to be.

“Somewhere off limits to you,” Thomas says, letting go of Hamilton’s wrist. “Don’t ask about it.”

“But -”

“Don’t ask about it, or Marq, or James, or anything. I’m getting tired of your fucking questions,” Thomas spits. His heart sinks at the hurt expression on Hamilton’s face, but he turns on his heels. “Come on, we’ve got things to put away.”

Hamilton follows Thomas dutifully into the shop again and gets to work putting things where they belong. When Hamilton isn’t looking, he drops the box of fortune flower sprouts in the pathway of his garden.

\--------------

The ringing of the bell tears Thomas’ attention away from the mindless paperwork he’s collecting. It’s early in the morning, just after store open and Thomas was picking up everything he could do in the back. He looks up to find a young man in uniform standing at the front of his shop. He’s somehow shorter than Hamilton, which Thomas had thought impossible and his face is a blanket of freckles. The way he stands tells Thomas that the man is a soldier, even if the navy blue uniform hadn’t given it away.

Stomach sinking, Thomas calls his usual greeting. The man, who had been brushing his shoes off, looks up. His eyes widen when he makes eye contact with Thomas and his back snaps impossibly straighter.

“Sir Jefferson?” The man asks, awe in his voice. Thomas frowns.

“That depends, who’s asking?” He says. The young man takes a few steps forward towards the counter.

“Um, I, uh,” The man stutters, and Thomas’ heart sinks. “My name’s John Laurens.” Thomas stifles a sigh, feeling Cooper shift on his shoulders to get a better look at the man.

“What can I do for you?” Thomas asks. _I just need to get him out of here,_ Thomas thinks. _Before he starts up with the bullshit._

“Is Alex Hamilton here?” The man asks, voice tight. Thomas nods.

“One second,” he says, sliding off the stool. Cooper instinctively tightens himself around Thomas as he walks to the door to the back and throws it open. “Hamilton!” He shouts. He must be in a biome if he didn’t hear the conversation.

“What?!” Comes the returning snap.

“Someone’s here to see you!” Thomas shouts back. “Get your ass out here!”

“You know,” Hamilton says, emerging from the greenhouse, “You don’t have to take _every_ opportunity you see to be rude.” Thomas shrugs, like ‘what are you going to do,’ and Hamilton rolls his eyes. He pulls his gloves off to walk out into the shop and Thomas follows.

The moment Hamilton and Laurens see each other it’s like they’re made of magnets. “John!” Hamilton cries, rushing over to the other man and launching himself into Laurens’ arms. Laurens accepts the hug, throwing his arms out to catch Hamilton.

“Alexander, my man,” Laurens laughs. Thomas leans against the doorframe, watching the exchange carefully.

“What are you doing out here?” Hamilton asks, pulling back to look at his friend.

“Wash sent me out to check up on you,” Laurens explains. Hamilton glances over to Thomas, so quick that Thomas almost doesn’t catch it.

“Did he get my letter?” Hamilton asks, voice dropping as if Thomas can’t hear. Laurens nods and reaches into his jacket.

“From him,” Laurens says, offering Hamilton a letter. Hamilton holds it in his hands, looking down at the sealed letter. Hamilton’s eyes flick over to Thomas and back again, but this time Laurens follows his eyes and looks over at Thomas.

“Thanks John,” Hamilton breathes, his arm snaking out around Laurens’ shoulders for a half-hug. Something about the sight makes his stomach clench and he rolls his eyes.

“Would you like to make out with your boyfriend in your own bedroom, perhaps?” Thomas offers. Hamilton’s gaze shoots up to him out of shock before settling into a familiar expression of anger.

“Why don’t you fuck off?” Hamilton asks. Laurens starts, pulling away from Hamilton to look down at him in shock.

“You can’t say that to _him_ ,” Laurens hisses. Thomas’ frown deepens, and Hamilton’s eyes flick between the two of them.

“Why not?” Hamilton asks. “He’s an asshole.” Laurens’ eyes widen, mouth open in shock.

“I know you’re not his biggest fan but, come on Alex! He’s _Thomas Jefferson_ ,” Laurens says. Thomas scowls, and Cooper shifts on Thomas’ shoulders. The dragon rubs his head along Thomas’ jaw, asking to be pet, but Thomas’ arms stay folded across his chest. “He’s one of the greatest wizards of our time, he’s got a freaking _dragon_ on his shoulders, and you think you can tell him to fuck off?”

Hamilton shifts his feet. “He’s just a man.”

“He deserves respect!” Laurens turns to Thomas, must see the dark expression on his face but keeps going. “I am sorry for Alex, sir. He doesn’t do well with authority.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Hamilton says, but Laurens doesn’t react to his interruption.

“Honestly, sir, you are one of my heroes. My history professor let me do an entire research project on you and your battle strategy -”

“Shut up, John,” Hamilton says, swatting Laurens in the side.

“ - And I’m trying to learn your curse expulsion technique for my battle healing practicum. It’s an honor to… meet you..” Laurens trails as he finally starts to process the look on Thomas’ face. If looks could kill, Laurens would have been obliterated from existence two sentences ago.

“Hamilton,” Thomas growls. “Tell your boyfriend to find a new hero.” With that, he stands up from the door and whirls. Cooper digs his claws into Thomas’ shoulders, but the pinpricks of pain actually feel alright.

“Jeff -” Hamilton starts.

“I’m going to the lab. _Don’t_ disturb me.”

“Jefferson!” Hamilton calls, even as Thomas is halfway to the alchemy lab. Thomas glares over his shoulder.

“Are you going to try and _stop_ me? I’m one of the greatest wizards of all time, after all,” Thomas snarls. Hamilton just looks at him, obvious uncertainty on his face. So Thomas just slams the door to the lab shut and locks it from the inside. He slouches against the door, rubbing his face with his hands.

Cooper chirps, crawling around until he manages to hop on top of Thomas’ head, stick his head out and meet Thomas’ eyes upside-down. He makes a few more chirping sounds, quietly, then presses his nose against Thomas’ forehead.

**_Hooman mad?_ **

“Hm?” Thomas asks. The speaker under one of the desks crackles to life with sound.

“Good going John,” Hamilton says with a sigh. “He probably won’t eat the for the rest of the day now.”

“What do you mean?” Laurens asks. Thomas sighs, a small growl in his throat.

**_Yes hooman mad._ **

“Did Washington tell you anything I wrote to him about?”

“Nope, just said to go make sure you both were still alive.”

**_Hooman no be mad._ **

Thomas stands up from the door and starts to pace. He ought to turn the speaker off. He shouldn’t listen, both as a matter of principle and so he doesn’t have to listen to what either Laurens or Hamilton have to say. God, he wants a drink.

Hamilton lets out a hollow laugh. “John, I… I’m honestly surprised he is. He’s really sick.”

“Don’t you have a whole aisle of healing potions?” Laurens asks. Hamilton sighs.

“Not that kind of sick, John!”

Thomas’ shakes are growing worse. There’s this deep urge in his whole body for even just a drop of alcohol. His eyes start searching the shelves, even as his brain protests that there’s none to be found. Cooper’s paws work against his scalp as if Cooper can feel the building desperate need under his skin.

Then Thomas’ gaze lights on the countertop distiller under one of the tables. It’s only been used to help synthesize solutions and purify mixtures, but that’s not all it could be used for.

“He’s… _agh,_ ” Hamilton makes a noise of frustration. “He’s an alcoholic, for one. I’m trying to get him sober but...”

Thomas’ hands still where he’s putting the metal distiller on the table. He glances over to where he knows the speakers would be. He feels a flash of guilt, Hamilton is going to be so angry and disappointed in him. The man’s done so much to get him clean -

“He’s honestly just a miserable, sad little drunk,” Hamilton says. Thomas feels like he’s been sucker-punched in the gut. _Of course he just pities you_ , says the voice. _Sobriety is overrated, anyway. You’re just a miserable, sad little drunk. Why try and be anything else?_

Thomas whirls, looking for the ground maize and yeast he knows he has stashed somewhere in the lab. When he passes by the speaker, he reaches down to turn it off. He doesn’t need to hear Hamilton lamenting his lot in life having to deal with Thomas Jefferson. He digs through the back part of the shelves until he comes up with what he needs. He throws the bags onto the table next to the distiller and grabs a time capsule from under a different table.

He hasn’t made moonshine himself in so long, but he still remembers how to do it. He grabs a bucket, fills it with water and throws what needs to ferment inside. He closes the lid and pops it in the time capsule. Normally, this would take a whole week to do, but Thomas is desperate and willing to use a little magic to get what he needs. He sets the thing for a week and steps back. It glows an off-pink hue, and Thomas adverts his eyes.

**_What make?_ **

Thomas blinks. He’d almost forgotten that Cooper was even there. “A human drink,” he says. Cooper chirps curiously.

**_Cooper have?_ **

“No Coop,” Thomas says. “It’s not for dragons.” Cooper shifts on his head, paws massaging his scalp for a better grip on his hair. The time capsule glows a bit brighter, then dims until the magic is completely gone. Thomas lets it sit for a moment before popping it open and pulls the bucket out.

As Thomas goes through the rest of the motions, he can feel Cooper watching him curiously. Thomas loses himself in the process, memories of a childhood learning from his father running through his head. He latches onto those to keep himself from thinking about why he’s doing this.

He’s just finishing up, putting the last of his yield into a beaker, when there’s a knock at the door. “Jefferson?” Hamilton calls. “It’s lunch time.” Thomas doesn’t answer, he can’t have Hamilton come in and see what he’s doing. “Jefferson, open the door.” _Just go away, five more minutes_.

“Don’t make me blast down the door and force feed you,” Hamilton warns. Thomas sighs, puts the beaker on the table, and shoves the distiller as close to the wall as it can get.

“I’m coming!” He shouts, throwing the time capsule on the floor and kicking it under the table. Cooper jumps from his shoulders and onto the table, but Thomas doesn’t have time to deal with that. He places himself where he can block Hamilton’s view of his worktable and opens the door.

Thomas looks down at Hamilton, letting his lip curl in anger. In Hamilton’s hands are a simple sandwich and a water bottle.

“Your boyfriend still here?” Thomas asks. Hamilton sighs.

“John’s _not_ my boyfriend,” Hamilton says. “But yes. He’s still here.”

“Put him to work then. Tell him to sweep or get the hell out,” Thomas snaps.

“John’s not a bad guy, he didn’t know -”

“And it wasn’t any of his business to know!” Thomas says. Hamilton blinks. “Speaker system, Hamilton. I can hear what happens in my shop.” Hamilton pales, but Thomas keeps going. “I don’t know what all you told him, I turned it off after you called me a miserable drunk, but still. Fuck you.”

Hamilton looks down and holds out the food. “Eat?”

Thomas sighs, grabs the food and water from Hamilton’s hands, and slams the door shut. He drops them on the counter next to him, waiting to see if Hamilton is going to knock again. After a few moments, Thomas thinks he’s in the clear and turns around to find Cooper neck deep in moonshine.

His front paws are perched on the rim of the beaker and he’s got his snout stuck into the clear alcohol. Thomas gasps, rushing over to the counter and pulling Cooper away from it. “No!” He snaps as Cooper wriggles in his hands. “I said this isn’t for you!”

Cooper barks, droplets of moonshine flying from his whiskers and spikes as he squirms. Thomas fights to turn the dragon around so they’re face-to-face. “Cooper! No!” They glare at one another, Thomas not backing down until Cooper stops fighting. But Thomas can already see the haze creep across Cooper’s eyes, and Thomas realizes he’s about to have an extremely drunk dragon on his hands.

“What am I going to do with you?” Thomas asks. Cooper chirps. Thomas sighs. “How the hell am I going to keep this from Hamilton?”

Thomas looks around, eventually putting Cooper on a far table with the express instruction to _stay_. Cooper sways in place as Thomas lets go of him, but stays upright. Thomas cleans up, grabs the first empty jars he finds and jars the moonshine, screwing the lids on tightly. He hesitates, unsure of what to do with the three jars in front of him, but ends up stuffing them inside his robes and picking Cooper up with his hands.

He manages to rush into his apartment without Hamilton spotting him, dropping Cooper on the couch before hiding the jars in a high cabinet. He returns to the dragon just in time to catch him as he almost falls off the side of the couch. He carefully puts Cooper back in place, listening to the dragon make little chirping noises.

“Talkative drunk, are you?” Thomas remarks, the joke falling flat even with himself. A memory surfaces from childhood, something about dragons being very sensitive to alcohol. And Cooper is very small and moonshine is _very_ alcoholic. Watching Cooper sway and fall onto his side, Thomas realizes he has no idea what to do.

There’s a knock on his apartment door. “Jefferson?” Hamilton calls. “A customer is asking for you.”

“Hold on a second!” Thomas calls back. He hurriedly pulls two of the cushions off the couch and sort of makes a little make-shift cage for Cooper, trapping him in a little triangle-shaped space. Cooper is still singing to himself as Thomas stands and rushes down the stairs. He throws open the door to find a fuming Hamilton.

“Finally,” Hamilton breathes. He grabs Thomas’ wrist, spins and leads Thomas into the front of the shop. For a moment, Thomas thinks Hamilton’s mad at him - _he found out somehow_ \- until he enters the shop and instantly recognizes the regular at the counter. She huffs, her short “let me speak to the manager” hair cut swishing around her face.

Thomas settles into his stool, knowing this woman is going to be a hassle but trying his best to get her out of her quickly. Every moment he spends away from Cooper is another moment his blood pressure rises. He ends up just shoving her a refund for something she shouldn’t get a refund for in order to get back upstairs.

But then a young man recognizes Thomas and tries to trap him in a conversation. He keeps Thomas stuck behind the counter until _Laurens_ of all people taps him on the shoulder and tells him to fuck off. Faced with someone still in uniform, the man finally backs off, and Thomas shoots Laurens a look of gratitude.

Laurens shoots him a ‘thumbs up’ as Thomas heads into the back again, and he sees Hamilton actually smiling at the both of them in the split second before he shuts the door behind him and rockets up the stairs. He bursts into his living room and his heart stops when he finds his makeshift cage knocked over onto the floor and no Cooper on the couch.

“Cooper?” Thomas calls, rushing over to the couch. “Coop!” He drops to his knees, looking under both the couch and the table. Nothing. He shoots up onto his knees. “Cooper?!”

Thomas rushes around his apartment, calling Cooper’s name, getting more and more frantic as his search turns up empty. When he finds himself standing in his kitchen, every cabinet thrown open and drawer pulled open, he has to admit it to himself. Cooper is not in his apartment.

He had left the door open accidentally when Hamilton had called him downstairs, hadn’t he? _Fuck, shit, fuck dammit_ , Thomas thinks, very eloquently as he comes back down the steps. Sure enough, the door is still cracked open and he looks out into the hallway.

Thomas’ first terrifying thought is that Cooper has gone to try and swim again, and he bolts into the greenhouse. Thomas throws open the marine biome and rushes inside. “Cooper?” He calls, hearing his voice echo. There’s no sign of dragon life in any of the tanks, no ripples, nothing. Thomas tries to peer into the bottom, but the water’s too dark. The tanks are far too deep and the water is too full of plant life to be clear.

Thomas swallows, the panic in his head overriding anything else. If Cooper’s in the water… Thomas doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t want to leave in case Cooper needs his help, but he could be anywhere else too. Reluctantly, Thomas leaves the marine biome, taking the time to block the door with a tool basket before moving on.

He searches the rest of the biomes, but gets nothing. Thomas tries the alchemy lab next, finding the room dragonless. He turns, eyeing the door to the shop front. He wants Cooper to be out there just a bit more than he doesn’t. Hamilton hasn’t come flying into the back in a rage, so maybe it’s not too bad.

Thomas steels himself, opens the door and walks out into the shop. He tries to keep his posture as relaxed as possible, even as his eyes are already searching the area with fervor. There are a few customers scattered along the aisles, Laurens is _still_ here - ineffectively sweeping by the door - and Hamilton is manning the counter.

Thomas lets out a breath as his eyes hit the end of the counter by the wall and find Cooper, belly up, getting his belly scratched absentmindedly by Hamilton. He can’t look to riled up though, and he hides any larger sign of relief. Thomas marches over to where the dragon is lying.

“There you are, you little rascal,” he mutters as if he simply lost track of Cooper for a moment. Hamilton glances up.

“Yeah, he wandered down here,” Hamilton says.

“Guess he got a little _cooped_ up being upstairs,” Laurens says, a shit-eating-grin across his face. Hamilton glares at him, which just makes Laurens throw his head back in a laugh.

“What are you even still doing here Laurens?” Thomas asks, making his way over to Cooper. The dragon’s head is lolling off the edge, eyes still hazy. Hamilton and Laurens exchange a look, Laurens puts the broom against the wall and makes his way back up to the counter.

“I uh, wanted to apologize,” Laurens says. Thomas freezes, his hands held out to pick Cooper up. Thomas sighs.

“You don’t have to,” Thomas says. Laurens shrugs.

“I made you upset, I’m sorry.” Laurens shuffles in place. “I got really excited about meeting one of my he- fuck, sorry.” Thomas’ jaw sets as Laurens stumbles over a few more words. “I just…” Laurens trails.

“You aren’t the first and you won’t be the last,” Thomas says, but Laurens’ attention is elsewhere now. He’s looking down at Cooper, eyebrows furrowed with what looks like concern on his face.

“Hey, your dragon looks kinda fucked up,” Laurens says, and it sends a chill down Thomas’ spine. Hamilton blinks, pulling his hand away from Cooper’s stomach but Cooper doesn’t whine, doesn’t squirm, doesn’t even react. Now it’s Hamilton’s turn to look concerned as he gently picks Cooper up by the front paws.

“Cooper, buddy?” Hamilton asks, turning Cooper over to put him on his feet. Cooper makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat, and when Hamilton puts him down his feet slide right out from under him. Instantly Hamilton shoots out of the stool, looking down at the dragon in concern.

Laurens squats down so he’s eye level with the dazed dragon. “He doesn’t look very good,” Laurens says. Thomas puts a careful hand on Cooper’s side to find he’s shaking. Cooper thrashes his tail weakly at the contact but doesn’t move other than that.

“What the hell happened?” Hamilton breathes, and Thomas’ stomach churns with guilt. Cooper pulls his feet in, slowly, and tries to push himself up into a sitting position. He doesn’t make it halfway up until he collapses back onto the counter. Hamilton looks up at Thomas.

“Should we call Maryam?” he asks. Cooper barks, the rasping sound much more of a hack than usual, and it makes sense why a moment later when the dragon pukes onto the floor. Thomas nods.

“We should call Maryam.”


	10. Chapter 10

Maryam had a situation at the ranch, so she doesn’t make it to the shop until just before close. Even Laurens has said his reluctant goodbyes, given a promise to write Hamilton and left by the time she staggers into the store.

“Where is he?” Maryam asks. She looks dead on her feet but here she is, braid slightly undone and nagi absent from her hair. Hamilton waves her over to the counter. They hadn’t dared moved Cooper, especially when the color in his scales started to fade and the shaking became so hard it’s visible.

They had managed to stuff a blanket underneath Cooper, and Hamilton had fetched his pillow from his room. Cooper had made little whining sounds until Thomas carefully moved him over the pillow, curling his body for him. Not long after the dragon had passed out, completely unresponsive.

Maryam rushes up, one hand clutching a bag that she deposits onto the countertop. Hamilton stands at worried attention, anxiety rolling off him in waves. Thomas hovers over Cooper, harboring dread in his heart. Maryam takes one look at him and starts digging in her bag. Without a word, she pulls out a penlight, peels open one eye and shines it in Cooper’s face.

Cooper doesn’t react. There’s a literal haze over his eyes, clouding the brilliant green that normally shines. Maryam moves it back and forth, but must not see what she wants to see because she frowns. Her hand reaches out to feel against Cooper’s neck, counting out his pulse by watching the time on a wall clock.

“How is he?” Hamilton asks. Maryam just frowns deeper.

“Has he tried talking to you?” Maryam asks. Thomas nods.

“It was disoriented and muddy,” he explains. Maryam nods to herself.

“There’s a spell I could try to help clear it up, but I’d like your permission?” Maryam asks

“Of course, anything,” Thomas says.

Maryam pulls out her wand, places the tip against Cooper’s head and the dragon’s eyes open lazily. He makes a little whining noise at being woken up, but Maryam ignores it. She connects her forehead with the dragon’s carefully. She mouths an incantation, there’s a bright pink glow, and then she leans back.

“Alcohol poisoning,” she announces, digging into her bag again. Thomas’ stomach sinks as Hamilton’s eyes widen. Cooper’s eyes slide shut again with a huff.

“How?” He asks.

“He drank alcohol, how else?” Maryam says. “Dragons are very sensitive to alcohol, their bodies naturally produce flammable gas -”

“No, I mean _how_ did he get alcohol poisoning?” Hamilton asks. “There’s not a drop of alcohol in this place.” Maryam cocks an eyebrow, pulling a bottle of water from her bag.

“Do you honestly expect me to believe that?” She asks, shooting a look at Thomas. “You need to keep locked up somewhere he can’t reach.”

“No, ma’am, there’s not any on the premises,” Hamilton insists. “Not even rubbing alcohol.” Maryam looks at him, a hesitance in her eyes.

“Alexander, do tell me you’ve noticed Thomas has -”

But Hamilton is already shaking his head. “He agreed to get sober! _We don’t have any booze around_.” Hamilton looks up at Thomas. “Isn’t that right?”

Thomas hesitates, a cold hand squeezing his heart. Maryam looks at him, a sudden hard understanding in her eyes. “Thomas?”

“I…” he starts, his throat threatening to close on him. Hamilton’s eyes are flashing in disbelief.

“Jefferson,” the warning clear in his voice. Thomas swallows.

“I might have made moonshine in the alchemy lab this morning,” he says, voice sounding pitiful even to him. Hamilton’s eyes widen, anger quickly flooding his face.

“You made _what_?” He says, voice deceptively quiet.

“Moonshine,” Thomas repeats.

“ _Moonshine_ ,” Hamilton spits. “You made _moonshine_ and you let Cooper get into it?!”

“I didn’t just feed it to him,” Thomas protests, but there’s no fight in his voice. Hamilton’s eyes flare.

“Are you fucking serious?!” He shouts.

“Hey, there’s a sick animal here,” Maryam says. Hamilton shuts his mouth, but his shoulders are still raised, his fists clenched. Maryam is slowly running her wand up and down Cooper’s body. When she’s done, she reaches into her bag again. “You wouldn’t happen to have any fairy’s breath on hand?”

Thomas nods goes to take a step back but Hamilton grabs his wrist. The bracers around his wrists emit a low light. “Oh no, you’re staying right here.”

“But -”

“You’ve done enough,” Hamilton hisses, marching past Thomas and to the dry ingredients aisle. He pulls down leaves of fairy’s breath and hands them to Maryam. She takes the leaves and douses them with liquid from a small, yellow bottle. Then she carefully takes Cooper by the head, massages his jaw open with two fingers, and sticks the leaf in his mouth. She then holds Cooper’s mouth closed, even as Cooper takes rapid breaths through his nose.

“It’ll dissolve on his tongue and get absorbed into his system,” she explains. She then holds out the bottle to Thomas. “Once an hour, coat a leaf and give it to him.” Before Thomas can take it, Hamilton snatches it for himself. Hamilton glares at him, thumbing the stopper on the bottle.

“What is it?” Hamilton asks, not looking away from Thomas.

“A neutralizer,” she says

“How much?”

Maryam hesitates. “We’ll see in the morning,” she says. Hamilton blinks.

“What do you mean?” He asks. Maryam looks him in the eye when she responds:

“I only make people pay me if treatment is successful.” Hamilton’s eyes widen, he looks down at Cooper.

“Are you saying he…?”

Maryam nods. “There’s not much else I can do either,” she says. “I’m sorry.” She looks between them, helplessness in her eyes. “I can stay the night, but it won’t do much good. I wouldn’t do anything else but what I told you to do.”

There’s a moment of silence, Thomas unable to meet Hamilton’s eyes. Hamilton takes a deep breath. “I think it’s best you go then.”

“I’ll be by in the morning,” she promises. Hamilton nods. She shoots Thomas one last look made halfway of anger and halfway of sympathy. Thomas keeps his eyes glued to the floor, even as the bell signals her exit.

“How could you?” Hamilton asks, venom in his words. “How _could_ you?!” Thomas doesn’t have an excuse, no words to say to make this right. Guilt boils in him as Hamilton keeps talking. “Not only were you about to relapse, you let Cooper -” he cuts himself off, running one hand through his hair. “What were you thinking?”

“I just needed a drink,” Thomas admits. _What have you done Thomas,_ asks the voice in his head.

“You ‘just needed a drink?’’ Hamilton sneers. “I thought you wanted to get sober? You promised. You _promised_ me you wouldn’t drink. I thought… I thought…” He slams the bottle on the counter. “You’re the ‘dragon expert’ here, did you just not know that alcohol can _kill_ Cooper? Because that’s what’s happening, Jefferson. He could be _dying_ because you let him get into _moonshine_.” Hamilton shoves Thomas on the chest, making Thomas stumble back a step.

“Don’t you think I don’t know that?” Thomas croaks out. Hamilton just seems to get angrier.

“Don’t you _dare_ try and play pitiful,” he hisses. “Don’t you fucking dare. Not when this is your fault.” His bracers glow, green magic crackling around the edges as they keep back what might be uncontrolled magic.

Cooper makes a noise from his makeshift nest, and both men rush to be by his side. He manages to pick up his head, hazily looking in their direction. Thomas raises a hand and reaches for Cooper, only to have Hamilton smack it away.

“You don’t deserve him,” Hamilton says. “Not if getting drunk is more important to you.”

Thomas withdraws, taking slow steps back from the counter. Hamilton hunches over the sick dragon, blocking Cooper from Thomas’ view.

_He’s right, you know,_ says the voice in Thomas’ head. _You did this. You don’t deserve him. Either of them_. _You ruin everything. You’re worthless. Awful. Scum._ Thomas feels his throat closing, feels tears prick his eyes. _Stop that. It’s your fault. You’re not allowed to be upset._

The voice is right, he knows. So he takes off, back to the greenhouses before his body betrays him. He can’t cry. He doesn’t have the right to. Thomas finds himself back in the marshland, both hands plunged into the thickest, gooiest mud he can find. The pressure and texture against his hands feels good, grounding. It keeps him in his head enough to focus on not crying.

Thomas stands there, squishing mud between his fingers and focusing on keeping the tears inside, for what feels like hours. He makes little statues with it, then squashes them back down. All he can think about is the sensation of mud in his hands and how much all of this is his fault.

Cooper might _die_ and it’s all his fault.

The door to the greenhouse opens. “Hey,” Hamilton starts, his voice hard and sleep deprived. “Cooper’s awake and keeps crying.” Thomas frowns, squashing the half-formed mountain of mud under his hands. Hamilton sighs. “He wants you.”

“Why?” Thomas asks. “I hurt him.”

“I don’t think he cares,” Hamilton says.

“I shouldn't be around him. Tell him I can’t come.”

Hamilton takes a sharp breath. “I don’t think you should either, but he keeps crying and won’t take his medicine. I would _love_ to just keep you away from him, but if it means he takes the meds, then fine. Look, I wouldn’t be asking you if I thought there was another way.”

Thomas hesitates, hands running through the mud. “I can’t,” he says.

“Thomas Jefferson, your dragon son could be _dying_ out there and you ‘can’t’ see him? When it means he might get better?” Hamilton's’ words are hard, sharp enough to make Thomas look up at him in shock. “Cooper _needs_ you. So man the fuck up and go out there.”

Thomas slowly pulls his hands out of the mud and silently follows Hamilton first to the hose by the greenhouse door. Hamilton forces him to clean his hands off for a moment before walking out into the shop proper.

The sun has set, but the shop lights are still on and Cooper is still curled on top of Hamilton’s pillow. His scales look brighter, but just the littlest bit, and he’s still shaking hard. When he sees Hamilton, he opens his mouth and lets out a whine. “Brought him,” Hamilton coos, reaching out to pet Cooper gently on the flank.

Thomas hesitates by the door, and still Cooper whines. Hamilton waves him over with his free hand and Thomas slowly picks his way over to the counter. When he’s standing by Hamilton, Cooper’s face swings over to look directly at him.

Cooper chirps weakly, his front paws work as if he’s trying to stand. “No, Coop, stay lying down,” Thomas says quietly. Cooper whines, but complies, relaxing back into the pillow. Thomas stays a good distance away, watching Hamilton pick up a leaf, dunk it in the tincture and offer it to Cooper.

Cooper keeps his mouth shut, letting out a muffled whine, and looks over at Thomas. Or so Thomas thinks, his eyes look like they’re covered in a film they’re so hazy. Hamilton glances over his shoulder at Thomas.

“Well? Come on,” Hamilton says after a pause. Thomas, unsure of himself, takes a careful step forward, and then another, and another until he’s an arm’s length away. Hamilton reluctantly hands Thomas the leaf, and Thomas offers it to Cooper.

This time, when presented with it, Cooper willingly opens his mouth for Thomas to place the leaf into. Mouth shut, Cooper runs his head against Thomas’ hand. The sounds he’s making are still weak, but he chirps contentedly as he rubs against Thomas. Thomas stays stock-still, still terrified to even be near Cooper.

When Cooper retracts his head to lay back down onto the pillow, it feels too much like a goodbye and a new, but even stronger, a pang of fear pierces Thomas’ heart. He rushes forward, curling over Cooper protectively.

“It’s gonna be alright Coop,” Thomas says. “You’re going to be okay.” It sounds like a plea to his own ears. Cooper chirps, blinking up at Thomas. He stretches his head up and Thomas understands what he wants. He leans down and carefully connects their foreheads. When Cooper speaks to him, it’s weak. The words themselves feel fuzzy somehow.

**_No leave_ **

“If you don’t want me to, I won’t,” Thomas says.

**_No leave_ **

“Okay, I won’t.” Thomas hands’ grip the edge of the counter. _You’re not allowed to be upset_.

**_Hooman sad_ **

“I’m okay Coop,” Thomas manages to grit out.

**_Hooman sad_ **

He sounds so weak, so pitiful, only able to repeat short phrases, and it breaks Thomas' heart. “Don’t worry about me, just try and get better.”

**_Cooper no leave_ **

“Please don’t,” Thomas chokes out. _You can’t cry, you can’t be upset, this is your fault_. He can’t listen to Cooper’s weak voice anymore. It’ll break him, so he breaks contact instead. He doesn’t give into Cooper’s whines except to run a hand down his flank.

Hamilton stands off to the side, face set in stone. He hands Thomas medicine-soaked leaves from time to time, and Thomas feeds them to Cooper. At some point, Hamilton also brings them both coffee from his bedroom. Hamilton stiffly hands Thomas a mug and then retreats again. Thomas looks at him, seeing the contained resentment still boiling in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Hamilton’s expression does not change, but the glint in his eyes flares.

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t do jack shit,” Hamilton says. Thomas flinches. “If that little dragon dies because of your stupid, _selfish_ mistake, I will never forgive you.”

Thomas’ heart aches at his words, his eyes drop back to the creature on the counter. “I won’t either,” he admits. There’s a pause, and then Hamilton sighs. Hamilton puts his coffee on the counter and stands a bit closer to Thomas.

“Let’s just wait until morning, okay?” Hamilton says, the ice in his voice ever so slightly melted.

They stand together when Maryam returns, giving Cooper a once-over before open. She frowns, and Thomas instinctively grabs onto Hamilton’s arm, grip like a vise. Hamilton stiffens, and then his other hand comes down to hold onto the back of Thomas’ hand. Maryam feels Cooper’s pulse, counting against the clock again. Each tick of the second-hand sounds like the hammering of nails into coffins.

After was seems like an eternity, Maryam steps back. She looks up at Thomas and his breath catches in his throat. “I’ll need to be paid for the medicine,” she says, and a rush of relief floods through Thomas.

“Yes, of course,” he says, a smile stretching across his face. “How much?” Maryam gives him a price and Thomas presses double that into her palm. When she tries to protest, Thomas shuts her down with a: “You’ve always done so much for me.”

Maryam hesitates, then puts the coins in her pocket. “Keep him away from alcohol next time,” she warns. Thomas nods, and Maryam gives him another bottle of solution with instructions to keep giving Cooper soaked leaves for the next few days. On her way out, she rubs her hand against Cooper’s head, earning a clicking noise from him.

The moment she’s out of the shop, Thomas is back at Cooper’s side. He can’t keep his hands off of him, feeling all up and down Cooper’s body. _He’s going to be okay,_ Thomas thinks, overjoyed. _You didn’t kill him and he’s going to be okay_. Cooper manages to click for him too, his tail twitching slightly.

“You scared me there for a second Coop,” Hamilton says, leaning on the counter beside Thomas. Thomas scratches behind Cooper’s neck flare, right where he knows Cooper loves it.

“Can I apologize now?” Thomas asks, not looking over at Hamilton. Hamilton lets out a slow breath, then nods. “I am so, _so_ sorry.”

“I know you are,” Hamilton says, and that’s all Hamilton says. Thomas tries not to let the lack of forgiveness get under his skin, choosing instead to gently nudge Cooper over and scratch down his belly.

Cooper seems to forgive him at least.

They don’t open the shop that day, both of them taking turns watching Cooper as the other naps. Thomas can’t sleep for more than an hour at a time, and Hamilton is understandably hesitant to leave Thomas alone. So they end up spending more time silently standing at opposite ends of the shop.

As the day goes on, more and more color starts to return to Cooper, the haze from his eyes lifts. When Thomas bends down to ask Cooper how he’s feeling, the dragon’s mental voice is stronger and more clear in Thomas’ mind.

**_Bored_ **

Thomas chuckles. “I know Coop. You understand how I felt when you first came.”

**_Bored!_ **

“Sorry, you gotta rest,” Thomas says. Hamilton drifts over, a polishing rag in his hands.

“What’s he saying?” Hamilton asks.

“He’s bored just lying around,” Thomas explains. Hamilton smiles at Cooper sympathetically.

“Have to agree with Jefferson on this one,” Hamilton says. “You have to rest to get better.” Cooper huffs, whiskers twitching.

**_Not sick_ **

“Hate to disagree -” Thomas says, but is cut off as Cooper shifts underneath his head. Thomas draws back to see what Cooper’s doing, and watches as Cooper gets his paws underneath him. Shakily, Cooper pushes himself into a standing position and chirps.

Thomas’ eyes widen. Cooper shouldn’t be moving but for the moment, Thomas doesn’t care. His heart leaps for joy. “Hamilton,” he breathes, reaching out for the other man. “Hamilton he’s okay!” He looks at Hamilton, sees the way his mouth is quirked up in a small smile too. Hamilton’s eyes glimmer with happiness, even as Thomas’ hands close around his shoulders.

“Yeah, Maryam said -” Hamilton’s words are cut off by Thomas’ lips crashing into his, the next sound turning into a surprised hum. Hamilton’s lips are soft, the stubble of his goatee scratchy in just the right way. It’s been a very long time since Thomas kissed someone, but he doesn’t remember feeling this light-headed or _stomach-twisting_ happy before.

Then his brain catches up with his action and the butterflies in his stomach die in a simultaneous massacre. He instantly pulls back, just as shocked with himself as Hamilton looks to be in him.

“I…” Thomas trails, unable to form a coherent thought. Beside them, Cooper chirps, high pitched like he’s almost whistling. Thomas snaps to look at him, finds Cooper sat on the counter, front paws dancing against the wood as his tail snaps back and forth.

Before Thomas can look back at Hamilton, the man pushes Thomas’ hands off his shoulders. There’s a loud _crack_ and when Thomas looks back, Hamilton is gone. Disappeared, apparated away.

_Look at what you’ve done Thomas,_ says the voice. Thomas stomach sinks. _You ruined it. Again._


	11. Chapter 11

Cooper is still weak for the next few days. They turn up the speakers in the other rooms so they can hear if he needs something from anywhere. He refuses to walk anywhere, opting instead to whine until Thomas or Hamilton carry him wherever he wants to go. Thomas doesn’t mind, he loves holding his little Cooper and feeling his steady heartbeat against his arms. He pampers the creature, feeding Cooper grapes and berries constantly and even going out to buy a dog bed for him.

It’s the first time Thomas has been out of his shop for ages, and he can feel anxiety prickling beneath his skin the entire time he’s out. He catches himself rubbing his face constantly with one hand, and stuttering through his interaction with the cashier. He keeps his head down, eyes raised from the ground just enough to make sure he’s not going to run into anything.

But the moment he drops the plush, fuzzy bed on the counter and Cooper settles into it with a contented sigh, Thomas knows it was worth it. He still makes himself a mental promise not to go out again, but he’s happy with what he’s done.

What Thomas _does_ mind, however, is how Hamilton keeps an arms’ length of distance between them. Hamilton’s constant stream of words disappears as Hamilton willingly spends as much time in separate rooms than Thomas.

They haven’t talked about it, and Thomas figures Hamilton is just trying to forget it ever happened. _He hates you,_ the voice says. _He’s so disgusted by what you did he can't stand to be around you_. Thomas wants to apologize, but Hamilton won’t let Thomas catch him alone before or after operating hours anymore. The only times they speak it’s very business or lesson oriented.

So Thomas tries not to stare at Hamilton from behind the counter as the other man stretches up to shelve some powdered ingredients on the other side of the shop. Cooper lazily plays with his own tail, lying belly-up in his bed. Every once in a while the dragon will chirp in a familiar tone, and Thomas will drop a berry or grape in his open mouth.

Cooper is asleep on the counter and Thomas is admiring that little band of skin revealed when Hamilton’s shirt rides up when the shop bell rings. “Welcome to Madison’s,” he intones, reluctantly dragging his gaze away. “How can I help you?”

“ _Thomas!_ ” Lafayette shouts, holding his arms out. There’s a bag in one hand and a blinding grin spread across his face. A cold hand closes around Thomas’ heart and he finds himself frozen to his stool, blinking like a deer in headlights. Hamilton’s head snaps around, a similar look of surprise on his face, though not as caught off guard as Thomas is.

“ _Mon ami,_ ” Lafayette says, mouth already moving a mile a minute. “You cannot believe how overjoyed and relieved I was to receive your letter!”

“My what?” Thomas stutters out. This isn’t happening, he’s not here, Lafayette is _not_ standing in his shop, making his way closer to Thomas’ counter. Lafayette keeps talking as if he hadn’t heard Thomas’ question.

“I have been waiting for the last six years to speak to see your wonderful face again!” Lafayette reaches over the counter to gather Thomas into a hug, arms wrapped around Thomas’ neck. Thomas is still frozen, even as Lafayette squeezes harder.

Lafayette pulls back, claps his hands on Thomas’ shoulders. “Well, you have not aged gracefully, but your face is still wonderful nonetheless.” He puts the bag on the counter and starts to dig around inside it. “I brought the good bread, and all those cheeses you used to like. We can eat lunch and catch up, you think?”

Thomas is staring silently, brain still trying to catch up with that’s happened. There’s no way Lafayette should even know where this store is, let alone think he can show up -

Over Lafayette’s shoulder, standing a few feet away is Hamilton, looking at them with fear in his eyes. He smiles in a grimace when he makes eye contact with Thomas just knows, with every fiber in his body, that this is somehow _Hamilton’s_ fault.

“Thomas?” Lafayette asks. He’s looking up at Thomas, holding a loaf of bread in one hand, sudden uncertainty in his eyes.

“You’ll have to excuse me for a moment,” Thomas mutters, finally sliding out of his chair. Hamilton’s smile falls as Thomas marches out from behind the counter, expression turning more thunderous by the step. Cooper chirps at him sleepily as he storms past Lafayette to stand before Hamilton.

“I should finish shelv -” Hamilton starts.

“What did you do?” Thomas asks, venom lacing his words. Hamilton swallows and offers another shaky smile.

“I, uh, thought maybe that…” He makes a vague motion with his hands. “Perhaps if an old friend of yours, specifically Lafayette, came by you might… feel better?” Hamilton says. “You’ve been alone for years and I thought that if you start talking to people again…” he trails.

“So you just _invited_ him here?” Thomas asks. Hamilton nods.

“Did you forge that letter to me, Alexander?” Lafayette asks. Again Hamilton nods.

“You said in your second letter that it wouldn’t be good to bring up that I knew you to Thomas, but I mean, it was a little late for that, and I knew you weren’t going to come if you thought Thomas didn’t want you here so I took it upon myself to get you here.”

“And you thought this was a good plan?” Lafayette’s voice is light as if discussing the weather.

“You were supposed to write me back with a day so I could prepare him!” Hamilton protests.

“You said ‘pick a day and come’ so I _picked_ a day and I _came_.”

“I - ” Hamilton cuts himself off. “I’m just digging a bigger hole for myself, aren’t I?”

“ _Oui_ ,” Lafayette says while Thomas nods silently. Thomas takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“Go sweep the desert biome,” Thomas says, teeth gritted. Hamilton blinks.

“That’s all just sand, what am I supposed to _sweep_ -”

“Go. Sweep. The desert. Biome,” Thomas says, spit flying from his mouth as he speaks. “I will be with you in a moment.” Hamilton nods, runs his hands through his hair and scampers off through the aisle. Thomas does not move even as he hears Hamilton shut the door to the back. His hands rub against his face as he lets out a breath.

“I have to admit,” Lafayette says quietly, “I am quite impressed that you only had to tell Alex to do something twice before he did it.”

“Lafayette,” Thomas says curtly, “I am sorry that you had to travel out here for nothing, but I am going to have to ask you to leave my shop.”

There’s a moment of silence, then the rustling of Lafayette’s paper bag. “Of course. I am sorry. I would not have come had I known that you still did not wish to see me.” Thomas hears Lafayette walk up behind him. “I apologize for the trouble,” he says, and then walks past Thomas, careful not to touch him again. Thomas watches him go, eyes glued on his back.

Lafayette still carries himself like a soldier, even in loose clothing; his hair is up in that signature bun of his. He still looks like the same man Thomas kicked out of an apartment in DC the night the peace terms were signed. He watches Lafayette walk towards the door of his shop and a part of him realizes that if he doesn’t say anything right now, he never will.

So Thomas takes a breath, and before he can talk himself out of it, he says: “I’m sorry.”

Lafayette stops, one hand on the door. He looks over his shoulder, expression unreadable. Thomas forces himself to speak, to get everything out before Lafayette leaves for good.

“I… The last time we saw each other I said a lot of things that weren’t true and that I didn’t mean,” he admits. “I was upset and drunk, and it was the six month anniversary and I was looking for someone to blame that wasn’t myself.” He can’t meet Lafayette’s eyes anymore. “You were there, and just trying to help me and I... I regret it. I regret it all.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Thomas squirms under it. “Okay, you can go now. I - I understand if you hate me, and you can leave, I just needed to say it.” Thomas shuts his eyes, head downcast. _He hates you, he’s going to leave like you deserve, you deserve to have him walk out._

Thomas hears footsteps coming toward him but doesn’t have time to react until two strong arms throw themselves around his neck. Lafayette buries his face into Thomas’ neck, holding him steady. They stand there for a moment, Thomas beyond shocked.

“Oh, my friend,” Lafayette breathes. “I forgave you long ago.”

Thomas gasps, his breath hitches in his chest as he slowly reaches up and hugs Lafayette back. Lafayette holds him, and Thomas realizes in that very moment:

“I missed you,” Thomas says. “I missed you so much.” Lafayette just nods.

“Me too.”

They stand there for a moment, half of Thomas still in disbelief that he’s _hugging_ Lafayette again, let alone standing in the same room as him. Then there’s a gentle pattering sound and something rubs against Thomas’ ankles. Lafayette pulls back just enough to look down by their feet.

“Oh, we’ve got a little friend,” Lafayette says. There are tears in his eyes, shining tracks down his cheeks. Thomas looks down to find Cooper standing there, looking back up at them with confusion. Thomas smiles, crouches down and picks up the dragon.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Thomas murmurs. Cooper just looks between them, snapping his head back and forth. He gives a rasping bark in the direction of Lafayette, then at Thomas.

“I think we’ve confused the little angel,” Lafayette says, a twinge of laughter in his voice. Cooper barks again, then stretches his head out and squirms until Thomas lifts him to his head.

**_Same hooman?_ **

Thomas bites his lip to keep from smiling. Cooper already sounds frustrated and confused. “No, Coop, we just look alike.”

**_TWO hoomans?_ **

“Yes.”

**_But same hooman._ **

“No Cooper, we’re different ‘hoomans,’” Thomas says. Lafayette giggles, one hand covering his mouth. Cooper shoots Lafayette a glare.

**_Only one hooman. Many humans, Cooper have one hooman._ **

“Oh!” Thomas says, realizing what Cooper means. “No, Lafayette is a different human.”

**_So no two hoomans_ **

“Nope.”

Cooper leans away to give him a look like he still doesn’t quite believe Thomas. Then he reconnects their heads.

**_Want down. Will ask short one_**.

Thomas shakes his head. “Hamilton is just going to tell you the same thing,” he says, even as he’s lowering Cooper to the floor. Cooper barks at him, and then pads away, claws clicking against the tile. They both watch him go, Lafayette’s eyes glimmering in amusement.

“You actually got yourself a dragon,” he says. Thomas nods, then winces.

“Hamilton got him for me,” he explains. Lafayette shoots him a confused look.

“It’s a long story,” Thomas sighs. Lafayette looks at him and shrugs.

“I cleared the day and I brought lunch,” he says. “If you want me to stay?”

Thomas smiles, and the hint of fear on Lafayette’s face fades. “Let me just lock the door.” Thomas grabs the keys from the bowl, locks the door and flips the open sign to ‘closed.’ When he turns around, Lafayette has conjured himself up a stool on the opposite side of the counter from Thomas’.

Thomas takes his seat, and ask Lafayette pulls out his food, Thomas asks him about his wife. Lafayette’s eyes light up and he starts to speak as if he will never talk again. They live at Mount Vernon during the school year and in France in the summer. Apparently, Adrianne is pregnant again, and they think it’s going to be a girl.

“There’s a seer in her last year at Mount Vernon,” Lafayette explains. “She saw us with a healthy little girl.”

“I’m happy for you,” Thomas says. “Though isn’t a third going to be a handful with twins?”

Lafayette shrugs. “I am a wizard, no? I will make it work.”

“Adri is okay with you using magic around the babies?”

Lafayette smiles. “Not at first, she wanted to prove you could raise wizards like morals. But then they started spewing orange sparks and catching things on fire. She saw how important magic-proofing is.”

“Must be odd, being a moral woman raising two wizards,” Thomas remarks.

“What can I say, she is quite simply the best woman alive.” Lafayette looks up at him with a twinkle in his eye. “Though one of the boys is certainly living up to his namesake.” Thomas groans.

“I cannot believe you _burdened_ one of your sons with such an awful name.”

“Jeffery is a wonderful name!” Lafayette protests. “I know an amazing man with that name.”

“It’s not even my real name!”

Lafayette laughs. “You only hate it because Martha W.S. used to tease you about it.”

“I hate it because it’s an ugly name!” Thomas insists. Lafayette opens his mouth to reply, only to be cut off by Hamilton throwing open the door to the back. He’s carrying Cooper in both hands, a stormy expression on his face. He marches over to the counter, raises Cooper so he’s looking Thomas in the eyes.

“ _Hooman_ ,” Hamilton says. Then he swings Cooper around so he’s looking at Lafayette. “Lafayette.” Hamilton turns Cooper so he’s facing Thomas again. “Hooman.” Then he turns Cooper so that they’re looking at each other. “Got it?”

Cooper chirps, lips drawn back in a smile and his tail wagging where it hangs in the air. Hamilton huffs, puts Cooper on the counter and announces: “After I teach him to fly, Cooper is getting a _grammar_ lesson.” Hamilton spins on one heel, muttering as he stalks away. “Took me _twenty minutes_ to figure out what he wanted. Calls me ‘short’ but can’t figure out the difference between two people. Goddamn.”

The moment the door slams shut behind Hamilton, Lafayette burst out into laughter. Thomas chuckles as Cooper parades himself across the counter, picking his way around the food, and curling up on his bed.

“ _Mon dieu,_ ” Lafayette breathes, the last of his laughter escaping him. “Alexander is something, is he not?”

“He’s _something_ alright,” Thomas says. The memory of the kiss surfaces for a split second before Thomas shoves them right back down. Lafayette’s eyes sparkle.

“So what is the story with the dragon. Cooper, right?” Before Thomas can answer, Cooper does by picking his head up and chirping. Lafayette shoots the dragon a smile before turning back to Thomas. Thomas sighs, scratching his beard.

“It’s not exactly a happy story,” Thomas warns. Lafayette frowns, but motions for Thomas to keep going. So, reluctantly, Thomas launches into the story, starting at the attempted robbery and ending with Hamilton bringing Cooper home out of the blue. At some point the dragon in question must grow bored as he scampers off the counter and into the back. When Thomas is finished, Lafayette thoughtfully chews a bite of bread before swallowing and saying:

“Well, I must say I am proud of you Thomas.” Lafayette tears another bread chunk apart with his hands.

“For what?” Thomas asks.

“Giving up the booze,” Lafayette explains. “I admit, I have spent much of the last few years wondering if you drank yourself to death.” He pops the bread into his mouth. Thomas winces.

“I came close a couple of times,” Thomas admits. Lafayette hums, a complete absence of surprise across his face.

“I am glad Alexander is helping you out.” Lafayette brushes his hands on his pants. “So, how long have you two…” he trails.

Thomas frowns. “Have we…?”

“Been together,” Lafayette explains. Thomas blinks.

“Oh, he’s been my apprentice for -” but Lafayette is shaking his head.

“How long have you been _together_?” He asks. Thomas’ eyebrows furrow, still not understanding. Lafayette makes a noise of exasperation. “How long have you been fucking?”

Thomas chokes on air, sputtering so hard Lafayette leans over to thump him on the back. “ _What?_ ” Thomas asks, gaping like a fish out of water. Lafayette chuckles.

“Do not worry my friend, it is only because I know the both of you well that I can tell,” Lafayette says. Thomas’ stomach flips.

“What on _earth_ gave you that idea?” Thomas asks.

“The way you talk about him!” Lafayette shakes his head gently. “The way he looks at you! You two adopted a dragon together! And, if I am honest, I do not think you would agree to give up your habits for anything less than a lover.” Lafayette smiles, proud of himself. Thomas shakes his head vigorously.

“No! No, oh god no!” Thomas exclaims. “Him? _Alexander Hamilton?_ The most infuriating man I’ve ever met? He’s my _apprentice_ Laf.”

“That has never stopped Freidrich or Ben,” Lafayette remarks. Thomas looks at him in horror.

“ _Never_ compare me to those two ever again,” he says. “Oh, I think I just threw up in my mouth a bit.”

Lafayette frowns, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Then why did you agree to get sober?”

“Angelica’s kids, Marq! I _told_ you about them, do you not remember?”

“But you did not make a deal with Angelica, you made a deal with Alexander.”

“Same difference.” Thomas shakes his head. “I am not _sleeping_ with my apprentice.” Thomas lets out a little chuckle. “And certainly never _Hamilton_.”

Lafayette frowns, something sparking deep in his eyes. His gaze is searching as if he’s peering right into Thomas’ mind. Thomas is careful to keep up his mental shields, highly aware that Laf _is_ an accomplished mind reader. Not that he believes Lafayette would intrude in such a way, but the idea of Lafayette finding out about the kiss is enough to terrify Thomas into refortifying his mind.

Lafayette sighs. “I am sorry for assuming,” he says.

“It’s alright,” Thomas says, after a pause. It’s not, Thomas is _terrified_ now that Hamilton somehow knows. But that’s a problem for later, he shoves it into the corner of his mind. “Tell me about school. What’s it like being a stuffy professor?”

\--------------

Lafayette stays for the rest of the day, and it’s almost like nothing’s changed. For a little bit, they’re students again, laughing over a study table and gossiping. Cooper ends up wrapped around Thomas’ neck, and Hamilton comes sulking in and out occasionally, shelving things or taking things away.

He keeps glaring at Thomas, but Thomas isn’t paying attention. Lafayette is snorting over a memory he’d forgotten until Thomas brought it up. For the first time in a long while, Thomas can reminisce about times gone by without getting consumed by the need to drink.

When the sun finally starts to set, and Lafayette sadly remarks that he has to go, Thomas’ heart sinks. Lafayette says his goodbyes to Hamilton, gathers his things and slowly makes his way to the front. They stand by the door for far too long, simply looking at one another. In that moment, Thomas realizes that he lost _six whole years_ with one of his closest friends in the world.

Thomas lurches forward, wrapping his arms around Lafayette one last time. “Write this time,” he says over Lafayette’s shoulder as if _Lafayette_ was the reason they lost contact. Lafayette chuckles quietly.

“Of course.”

“Swear.”

“I swear,” Lafayette assures him. “Take care of Cooper and Alex.” Thomas nods. “I mean it, I want to see him come back to Mount Vernon in one piece.”

“You got it,” Thomas says, finally reluctantly pulling back. “I’ll see you around.”

“Until next time Jeffery.” Lafayette pats Thomas on the shoulder and pushes open the door to the shop. He watches Lafayette untie the pegasus from the horse post outside the store, they share a wave and Lafayette takes off.

Thomas looks over at his shoulder. Hamilton is standing behind him, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, and Cooper is on the countertop next to him. Hamilton’s braces are glowing dimly, Thomas can see them even though he keeps his hands tucked away. Thomas turns to face his apprentice.

“I should be mad at you,” Thomas remarks. “But I… I suppose a ‘thank you’ is in order.”

“I told you so,” Hamilton says with a crooked little smile, then spins and disappears into the back. Thomas looks over at Cooper.

“Do you want to help me with inventory?” He asks the dragon. Cooper just huffs and follows Hamilton into the back. Thomas’ eyebrows creep upward. Is Cooper _mad_ at him?

_Of course he is,_ says the little voice. _He must have realized how awful you are and now he hates you_. Thomas flinches, making his way up to the counter and grabbing his sales book. Inventory tonight won’t be hard, they were closed half the day and slow the other half.

Thomas makes short work of shop inventory, does the math as to what they should have in the back, and goes to check. Hopefully, Hamilton’s already been counting in the back, it would explain why he hasn’t been back. Thomas pokes his head into the greenhouse, finds Hamilton standing in the wetland biome.

Thomas crosses the room, opens the glass door and slips inside. “You wouldn’t have already started on inventory, would you?” He asks, clutching his math sheet in one hand. Hamilton glances up at him, and Thomas frowns. “Are you okay?”

Hamilton is standing there, leaning over the hagswort with tears rolling down his face. He pulls off a glove and wipes at his face. “Yeah, I think I might be allergic to this stuff,” he says, motioning at the pulled plants in front of him. Thomas glances at the pile of harvested root.

“Yeah, some people don’t react well to hagswort. I can whip you up something to counteract it tomorrow, if you want,” Thomas offers. Hamilton nods, letting out a breath.

“That’d be great.”

Thomas insists he finishes the hagswort while Hamilton starts counting, and by the time Thomas emerges from the biome, Hamilton’s face has cleared up. He hands Thomas a sheet of paper detailing the count in about half the biomes, and together they make short work of the rest. Hamilton is quiet, but working quickly, likely just concentrating.

When they say goodnight, Thomas goes to scoop Cooper into his arms but the dragon dances out of his grip. Cooper jumps up Hamilton instead, perching himself on Hamilton’s shoulders.

“Bedtime Coop,” Thomas says, and Cooper barks. He paces on Hamilton’s shoulders, wrapping himself around Hamilton like he would Thomas. Thomas looks at Hamilton. “I guess he wants to sleep with you tonight?”

Hamilton shrugs. “Cool with me.”

Thomas nods, trying to hide the ounce of hurt inside. Cooper _always_ sleeps with him. But they part ways, Thomas sleeping in his own bed alone.

In the morning, Thomas wakes up alone, eats, and heads downstairs. It doesn’t take him long to make Hamilton’s allergy cure and when Hamilton walks out of his closet Thomas hands it to him. “Make sure you take it with food,” Thomas instructs. Hamilton nods, and Thomas finishes opening.

Thomas spends the day in the back, like normal these days. He misses being in the shop front, but not enough to deal with curious customers. He crushes up the hagswort harvest, might as well do that for Hamilton if he can.

Thomas loses himself in the repetitive motions of a mortar and pestle, and finds himself thinking about Hamilton. Lafayette had thought they were _together_. Thomas shakes his head. Hamilton is attractive, yes, Thomas would have to be blind not to see that. He’s smart, capable, caring, and - if Thomas is truly honest - not actually a bad guy.

But Hamilton is his apprentice. He’s six years younger than Thomas and he’s going to leave sometime. That’s the fact of the matter. Once Hamilton is done with his apprenticeship he’ll leave. Thomas doesn’t deserve someone like Hamilton anyway; he doesn’t deserve Lafayette back in his life either, but he’ll take what he can get. It’s selfish, but Thomas is tired of being alone.

Closing comes sooner than Thomas thinks and Thomas heads out into the shop front. Hamilton hands him the sales book and disappears into the back. Thomas watches him go, slightly confused. But he gets to work, counting stock on the shelves.

Cooper is lying on his bed on the counter, and Thomas can feel his eyes on him. Cooper hasn’t been with him all day, but now the dragon glares at him from across the shop. Thomas finishes his count, comes back to the counter and starts his math. Cooper huffs in his direction, and when Thomas doesn’t respond he huffs louder.

Thomas shifts in his seat, trying to concentrate. He puts one hand out to scratch Cooper on the head but Cooper avoids him. Instead, he huffs louder, almost like a growl this time.

“ _What_ ,” Thomas snaps. “What is it?” Cooper lifts his head to glare at Thomas, and huff again. “That doesn’t help.” Cooper turns around to plant his back to Thomas and Thomas lets out an exasperated sigh. “You can’t just _huff_ at me like that and not tell me what’s upset you.”

Cooper sighs, stands and walks over to Thomas, anger glittering in his little green eyes. He barks at Thomas and then glares at the back door. “What?” Thomas asks, glancing at the door and back. Cooper barks again. “You keep acting like I should know why you’re upset but I _don’t_. Why don’t you just tell me?”

If Thomas didn’t know better, he would say Cooper rolls his eyes at him, and then hops up onto Thomas’ shoulder. Cooper’s snout connects with Thomas’ temple and an image floods his head. Hamilton, elbow deep in the grassland soil, weeding the farthest corner of the biome. Then he moves, choppy, less like a fluid memory and more like a series of stills. Cooper is obviously struggling to play back the memory as a whole image, but he gets the sound pretty well.

“How long have you been fucking?” Lafayette’s amplified voice comes through, crystal clear in Thomas’ mind. Hamilton looks up at where a speaker hangs just outside the biome. The conversation skips a bit as Cooper struggles to show him different stills.

“Same difference. I am not _sleeping_ with my apprentice.” Memory-Thomas says. “And certainly never _Hamilton_.” His laugh echoes around the biome as Hamilton stills. Thomas can see the pain playing across Hamilton’s face; the way his eyes stretch wide and his mouth hangs open part of the way. His fists clench around the stems of weeds, the bracers on his wrists starting to glow.

Then, Hamilton in the wetlands, struggling to hold back tears and ultimately failing. Thomas poking his head in. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I think I might be allergic to this stuff.”

Hamilton sitting on the edge of his bed, Cooper curled around his neck. “I’m so stupid Coop. The short one’s a fucking idiot. Of course the kiss didn’t mean anything. I should know he’s an emotionally stunted asshole. _Fuck_ , I’m so goddamn stupid.”

Cooper pulls away, hopping down to the counter to glare up at Thomas. His tail thrashes as he waits for Thomas to respond. Thomas, for his part, is suddenly filled with an all-consuming guilt. He _has_ ruined it. The kiss flashes through his mind, his own mind seemingly taunting him with his mistakes.

“Oh my god,” Thomas breathes. Cooper huffs, his head bobbing in what looks like a nod. Thomas takes off, heading right for the greenhouse. He has to talk to Hamilton, let him know -

_Let him know what?_ The voice pipes up. _What could you say to fix this? He hates you. Like he should. You’re awful. Scum. Worthless. Despicable_.

Thomas throws open the door to the greenhouse and scans the room, peering through the glass to find where Hamilton’s gone. He finds the other man in the savannah, ripping weeds from the ground in there. Thomas swallows, steels himself and goes in.

The door opens silently, and Thomas catches a glimpse of Hamilton's’ muttering. “Well, fuck him I guess -” Thomas clears his throat and Hamilton shuts up. He sees Hamilton stiffen, hands stilling where they’re wrapped around a stem.

“Yes?” Hamilton snaps. Thomas works his jaw, still unsure what he’s going to say. Hamilton’s fists clench tighter. “What do you want?” He asks, his gaze glued to the floor away from Thomas.

A lump rises in Thomas’ throat. His heart starts working faster than his brain and he’s already talking. “I’m sorry,” he says. Hamilton starts, head wiping around so he can blink at him. “I’m sorry,” Thomas repeats, “for what I said and what I did to Cooper and almost killing you that one time and everything else I’ve ever said and the drinking and for how I am and I’m sorry that I kissed you.”

They stare at each other for a moment, Thomas breathing hard from his apology. Hamilton stands, slowly pulls the gloves off his hands and drops them to the floor. Thomas stands stock-still as Hamilton approaches, silent but with an odd gleam in his eyes. He stops in front of Thomas, looking up at him with a piercing gaze.

And then Hamilton grabs Thomas by the face and kisses him.

It happens like a shot, one moment they’re feet apart and the next Hamilton is pressed up against him, kissing him like his life depends on it. Thomas has never been kissed like this before, it knocks the breath out of his lungs. But then he’s kissing back, hands finding their place on Hamilton’s hips.

Hamilton’s hands run back so that his arms are wrapped around Thomas’ neck, and he’s popped up on his toes to reach that high so Thomas leans a bit farther down. But for all the passion and force behind the kiss, it’s oddly chaste, not that Thomas minds. He’s _kissing_ Hamilton. And he _likes_ it.

And then Hamilton is pulling back, his arms still looped around Thomas’ neck. Thomas opens his eyes to look down at the other man, only to find that same piercing gaze from before the kiss. And then hurt flashes across Hamilton’s face, he takes a step back and disconnects from Thomas’ body.

“Ale -” Thomas calls, but Alexander has already apparated away with a _crack_. Thomas is left staring at empty air, hands still outstretched where they had rested against Alexander’s body.

“What the hell?” He asks the empty biome. But not even Cooper’s around to explain things to him this time.


	12. Chapter 12

Thomas is determined to talk to Alexander the next day. He gets up early, goes about the morning opening routine, but before he opens the door he settles into his stool and waits. When Hamilton comes out of his room for his morning chores, Thomas is waiting for him.

Thomas is ready to talk until Cooper climbs up Alexander’s shoulder and emits a small fireball towards the apprentice’s head.

Alexander shouts, batting Cooper’s head away from his now-flaming hair. The scent of burning hair fills the shop as Thomas rushes from behind the counter to pull Cooper off Alexander. Alexander’s bracers glow as he whips out his wand and casts a stream of water at himself.

It splashes across the floor, but Alexander’s not on fire anymore and Thomas can’t bring himself to care about the puddle of water. “Cooper, what the hell?” Thomas asks. Cooper wags his tail, looking up at Thomas with a smug look.

“Did you want to give me warning that you managed to teach him to breathe fire?!” Alexander snaps, soaked from the shoulders up.

“I didn’t know!” Thomas replies. Cooper clicks and wiggles in the way Thomas knows means ‘put me down.’ “He must have figured it out on his own.”

“Goddamnit,” Alexander mutters. He peers at the faint reflection of himself in the side of the metal shelf and feels along the bottom part of his hair. “I’m going to have to get this cut off.”

“You’re not burned are you?” Thomas asks.

“Just my hair.” Alexander pulls a lock in front of his face to look down at it. It practically crumbles in his hand and he groans. “Is there a barber in town?” He asks. Thomas frowns, trying to remember.

Cooper jumps out of Thomas’ hands, his grip having slackened now that his attention wasn’t completely on the dragon, and he disappears behind the counter. A moment later, Cooper reemerges with a pair of scissors in his mouth. Thomas looks down at him and shakes his head, glancing to make sure Alexander doesn’t see what’s happening.

Cooper hops on the counter and pushes the scissors at Thomas. He drops them on the counter and barks, wagging his tail as he looks up at Thomas. Just as Cooper’s grand plan dawns on Thomas, Alexander turns.

“Barber?” He asks again. Thomas glances up at him, but Cooper pushing the scissors against his hand makes him look down again.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “You could look…” he trails, trying to shove the scissors away. Cooper traps them with his paws before they can skitter away and barks again. He looks up at Thomas, and Thomas sighs. “Or I could do it. Save you money and the trip.”

_There, you happy? I offered,_ Thomas thinks at the dragon. Alexander frowns, one eyebrow cocked.

“Can you even cut hair?” Alexander asks. Thomas shrugs.

“Been doing my own for years,” he says. Alexander snorts.

“That inspires so much confidence.”

Thomas frowns. “My hair is fine, thank you very much.” Alexander rolls his eyes, but the implicit challenge wiggles in the back of Thomas’ brain. “Come here, I’ll give you the best haircut of your life.”

Alexander’s eyes flash. “I’d rather just -”

“Nope, get over here.” Thomas snatches the scissors from the counter, marches around it, pulls the stool out and pats the seat. Hesitantly, Alexander makes his way over to the stool and sits with his back to Thomas.

The entire bottom half of Alexander’s hair is completely unsalvageable, and as Thomas gathers it into one hand to shear the damage off, Alexander squirms in his seat. “You’re going to have to stay still,” Thomas says. Alexander stills, stiff as a board, and Thomas slices the burnt hair off.

It leaves Alexander’s hair about bob-length and majorly uneven, the right side having taken more damage than the left. Cooper comes to stand on the counter, smiling to himself. As Thomas runs his hands through what’s left of Alexander’s hair, he shoots the dragon a look.

“Real proud of yourself, aren’t you?” He asks. Cooper chirps, sitting down on the counter to watch. Alexander sighs, fingers drumming against the stool.

“What the hell are you doing?” Alexander asks. Thomas blinks, hands stilling.

“Trying to figure out a style -”

“No.” Alexander hunches over himself. “ _What_ are you doing? Are you really -” Alexander shakes his head. “Never mind. Just do this, would you?”

Thomas frowns, but Alexander’s face is set in stubborn stone. The bracers around his wrists glow hot, and when he catches Thomas looking at him, he stuffs his hands under his thighs, effectively hiding them. Thomas slowly gathers a lock of Alexander’s hair in his hand and slices it short. Thomas goes slow, trying to be as careful as he can, working his way around the back and sides of Alexander’s head.

As he goes, Thomas tries to find that same courage he had this morning, tries to find that drive to talk to Alexander about what happened. But it seems to have disappeared, replaced by the urge just to bury it and pretend it never happened.

And that’s what Thomas listens to, staying silent in concentration. Alexander’s hair is soft between his fingers but Thomas refuses to let himself think about that. He also refuses to think about what it would be like to just hold Alexander and run his fingers through that soft, smooth hair.

Thomas gets everything he can from the back and walks around to face Alexander. He keeps his eyes glued on the strands of hair he’s working on instead of letting his gaze travel downwards. Thomas’ lips tingle with the memory of Alexander’s on his, they’re so close now, Thomas could just -

_No_ , he thinks, mentally slapping himself on the wrist, _stop it._ _It’s better if it never happens again_. His stomach sinks at the thought, but he knows it to be the truth.

Eventually, Thomas puts the scissors on the counter, readjusts Alexander’s part, and steps back. “Done,” he announces. Alexander nods, lips pressed into a thin line. Thomas moves out of his way so Alexander can stand and make his way back to his room. Thomas waits on pins and needles, hoping.

Cooper chirps at him. “Oh shut up,” Thomas mutters. “This is your fault.” Cooper just looks even more smug. Alexander reemerges, one hand feeling his hair

“Yeah, it’s not too bad,” he says. Now that he’s not two inches away or halfway distracted, Thomas gets a full look at Alexander and his entire brain goes into panic mode. If he thought Alexander was handsome before, well he’s gone and fucked himself over.

_How can one man be that pretty?_ He thinks, watching Alexander play with his shortened hair in the metal of the shelves. He wants _his_ hands to be the ones running through Alexander’s hair. He wants to pin Alexander against that shelf and kiss him like they kissed last night. He wants -

“Thanks, I guess,” Alexander says. “I gotta go do my chores.” He disappears into the back. Thomas watches him go, blood boiling under his self-restraint. Cooper lets out a huff and jumps on Thomas' shoulder.

**_Why hooman not talk to short one?_ **

“I was going to, and then _someone_ burned half his hair off.” Cooper huffs again.

**_Cooper set up good! Go smash faces._ **

Thomas’ jaw drops. _The nerve of this dragon!_ “I can’t just do that.”

**_No stop hooman before._ **

“You know what, if you’re going to be like this -” Thomas peels Cooper from his shoulder and dumps him on the counter - “We’re not talking.” Cooper glares, barks up at him, and then prances over to his bed, tail stuck in the air. Cooper lies down, head held up high, and Thomas rolls his eyes.

“Meddling dragon,” Thomas mutters, unlocking the shop door. “Thinks he’s so smart.” Thomas flips the closed sign to open, resigning himself to talking to Alexander tonight.

\--------------

Thomas does not talk to Alexander that night. He doesn’t talk to Alexander for the next couple of days, actually. Each time he goes to, something happens or he chickens out, so their conversations are limited to business or lessons. Anytime they’re close to one another, Thomas feels like he has to restrain himself from reaching out to touch.

So they spend their time in separate rooms - or the opposite sides of the same one if they have to. Alexander seemingly taunts Thomas just by existing, and Thomas starts to feel like his bed is too big even with Cooper in it.

And, as much as Thomas doesn’t want to be in the front with customers, Alexander is in his element when surrounded by people. He’s an excellent salesman, pushy where he needs to be and kind where a softer approach is needed. Thomas knows he’s borderline manipulating customers, but he’s so beautiful when he’s confident or grinning after a sale.

Sometimes Thomas can’t help himself and will go shelve something just to watch Alexander work with the people who come into his shop. Thomas was never one for small talk or to approach a customer, preferring to stay behind the counter and come out only when asked, but Alexander is smooth and open. _That’s_ the Alexander Thomas wishes he had, not the stiff, aloof Alexander he has outside of operating hours.

“So, how long have you been working here?” A witch dressed in a blue jumpsuit asks, twirling a lock of hair around a finger. Alexander looks up from where he’s crouched, reaching for whatever the woman’s asked for.

“Two months next week,” Alexander says. The woman smiles.

“Ah, that explains it. I would have remembered you,” she says. “I’ve been away in New York for work.”

“Welcome back,” Alexander says, standing up and handing her the bottle. Her fingers wrap around the neck of the bottle, Thomas sees the way her fingertips brush Alexander’s as he hands it over. She smiles at him, a flirty little thing.

“Thank you…”

“Alex,” Alexander says, smiling back. Thomas heart clenches. Alexander leads her over to the counter and completes the transaction. “Be sure to come back now,” he says. The witch giggles.

“Oh, for sure,” she says, reaching out to touch Alexander on the shoulder. Cooper, from his place on the bed, glowers at the woman. Thomas sees the way Cooper’s nostrils flare as he breathes in, the dragon sits up on his hind legs, and Thomas knows what’s coming.

In a rush, Thomas bolts to the counter and snatches Cooper up before the building puff of fire can be released. “Feeding time,” he says to the confused woman, and scoots away, holding Cooper tight to his chest. As he walks away, he hears the woman start talking to Alexander again.

“You sure know your stuff, I’ve always wanted to get into alchemy… maybe you could show me a few tricks?”

Thomas is tempted to turn around, drop Cooper on the counter and just let the dragon cook her to a crisp. Cooper wiggles in his hold, trashing until he manages to perch on Thomas’ shoulder.

**_Why stop Cooper_ **

“You can’t just fry customers,” Thomas says, regretfully.

**_Not customer. Threat._ **

“To what?”

**_To hooman! If hooman no protect mate, Cooper do._ **

Thomas stops, halfway down an aisle, and turns. He can just see where Alexander is leaning over the counter, dangerously close to the woman. Thomas sighs. “He’s not… he’s not my _mate_ Coop. I can’t get jealous.” Even as he says it, he knows the boiling feeling in his gut is pure, unadulterated jealousy.

**_He is! Silly hooman._ **

Thomas just shakes his head. “I wish.” Cooper sighs.

That night, just as Thomas is getting ready to go upstairs for bed and Alexander has already retreated to his bedroom, Cooper scratches and wines at Alexander’s door. Thomas frowns, waiting for Alexander to crack the door open and let Cooper inside for the night. But he never does, even as Cooper cries as loud as possible.

Thomas sighs, maybe Alexander is already asleep. He crosses the shop front and goes to open Alexander’s door for himself. But when Thomas’ hand connects with the doorknob, the metal sears into his skin and he jerks his hand back. It glows a faint green that fades quickly. Thomas touches it carefully with a single finger only to get the same result.

Alexander has charmed the door to keep him out. Thomas looks at Cooper. “I don’t think he wants you to sleep with him anymore,” he says. Cooper whines sadly, scratching at the door until Thomas picks him up. He drapes Cooper along his arm and reluctantly leads him upstairs.

\--------------

Thomas is bringing out a fresh batch of burn salves when he catches the eye of a young man Alexander is talking with. Passing them silently, Thomas goes to start shelving, but he still feels the man’s eyes on him.

“Is that Thomas Jefferson?” The man asks. Alexander nods.

“Yes, but he’s very busy,” Alexander says. “Now, the crow herb base will -”

“He your boss?” The man asks. Alexander nods again, and the man tisks.

“Wow, that sucks man.” Thomas tries to ignore the conversation, focusing on putting the jars in a perfect line. “Why would you choose to work for someone like him?”

“I’m his apprentice, sir,” Alexander says, the friendly facade starting to slip slightly.

“Who the hell sent a kid to work under a mass murderer?” The man asks. “Where do you go to school?” Thomas’ heart sinks, his insides turning into lead. His hands start to shake as he just tries to finish up and get out of there.

“Excuse me?” Alexander asks, his voice tight.

“Whatever school would willingly put a student in danger is negligent,” the man lectures.

“I’m not in danger,” Alexander replies. Thomas flinches as a memory of himself throwing Alexander across the room surfaces.

“You’re working and living with a _murderer_ kid,” the man says. “He’s scum.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Alexander hisses. Thomas’ hands clench around the now-empty basket.

“Hamilton let it go,” Thomas breathes. “He’s right.”

The man blinks as if shocked Thomas would agree with him. But Alexander shakes his head.

“He can’t say those things!” Alexander protests. “He doesn’t know what you’ve been through.”

“I said _let it go_ ,” Thomas says. He stands and turns to head down the aisle, away from Alexander and the customer.

“See? Murderous coward,” the man spits.

“How many times do I have to tell you to shut up?” Alexander growls. “I won’t stand to let you say those things about him.”

The man scoffs. “Don’t tell me you’re blinded by ‘hero worship.’ Who knows how many people Jefferson and his ‘compatriots’ killed.”

“They were at _war_.”

“A war to give false wizards status,” he says. As Thomas turns at the end of the aisle to walk away, he catches a glimpse of Alexander. He’s stuck himself right in the man’s face, his fists balled at his sides and his bracers glowing so bright they look like they’re about to explode. Green crackles of energy dance brightly across Hamilton’s skin, no longer just confined to the edges of the bracers.

Thomas drops the basket. Hamilton is going to hurt himself if he doesn’t let up. “Hamilton!” He snaps, taking a few steps back down the aisle. “Calm down!”

“And what?” Alexander hisses. “Let this man just say whatever he wants?”

“What are you going to do, squirt?” The man asks. The green flares for a moment, and then Alexander swings, fist encased in green light. Thomas reacts without thinking, throwing up a dingy purple shield between the two other men. Alexander’s fist collides with it, bouncing off with such force it actually staggers him back.

The other man is pulling out his wand as Thomas reaches Alexander. Thomas moves first, thank god, panting himself between Alexander and the shield. He puts his hands out - magic free - just in time for Alexander to right himself.

Thomas locks eyes with Alexander and sees that his eyes are _literally_ alight with anger, green sparks dancing in the whites of his eyes. Thomas doesn’t take any chances, surrounding Alexander in a bubble of purple. Inside, the air crackles with green electricity, bouncing off the walls and Thomas can feel each impact.

But Alexander isn’t in control, he doesn’t have a wand in his hand and his bracers are blindingly bright - like two little suns attached to his wrists. And wild magic does what wild magic does - looks for a place to go and the only thing that can absorb it is Alexander himself. The collected magic throbs one last time against Thomas’, and then turns inward.

Alexander is instantly knocked to the ground, body absorbing what it can, but most of it is left battering him and back to the bubble. Slowly, carefully, Thomas opens tiny cracks, letting what he can safely dissipate into the air. When he thinks it’s thin enough, when the air inside his little magic cage is more clear than green, Thomas slowly lowers his hands and by extension his shield.

Alexander is on the floor, lying like a crumpled piece of garbage against the tile. His body shakes and twitches, and for a second, Thomas is reminded of someone else. He shakes the image of James out of his head. He has to focus.

Thomas immediately lurches forward, falling to his knees. “Alexander?” He calls, carefully turning the man over onto his back. He’s unconscious, breathing shallowly and  Alexander’s arms are quickly turning a deep shade of purple, two large bruises extending from either brace.

“Alex?” Thomas calls again, hands curled gently around Alexander’s shoulders. He nudges the man, comes just short of shaking him but Alexander won’t wake up. He’s still breathing, even as the last tendrils of green magic escape his body and he twitches violently. One spark lands on Thomas skin, shocking him.

“Are you a fucking idiot?” Thomas asks, glaring over his shoulder at the customer who is still standing there. “Did you _not_ see his suppressors?.”

“I could have handled it,” the man says, though there’s a flicker of fear on his face. Thomas narrows his eyes.

“I haven’t had to use magic like that against anyone for _six years_. Be glad we don’t have to find out if you’re right.” Thomas slides his arm under Alexander’s limp form, picking him up bridal-style. He turns to glare down at the man. “Get out of my shop.” The man hesitantly opens his mouth to protest. “ _Now_.”

The man nods and immediately disappears around the corner. Thomas hears the bell ring as he walks Alexander over to his bedroom door. The man is completely unconscious in his arms, his face peaceful in sleep despite the last jerks of his limbs and the bruises that now disappear under his shirt sleeves.

Thomas stops in front of the door, faced with a problem until he realizes that he still has Alexander in his arms. Carefully, he places one of Alexander’s limp hands on the door knob, fits his own hand around the smaller one, and turns the knob. The world grants him mercy by letting the door swing open and Thomas nudges it all the way with his foot.

“Come on darlin’,” Thomas mutters, carrying an unconscious Alexander over to his own bed. Alexander keeps his bed made, and Thomas places him down on top of the comforter. It’s then that he realizes he’s not sure what to do. He leaves Alexander’s side simply to lock the door, flip the sign and collect basic first-aid supplies. When he returns, Cooper is at his heels and his arms are full of salves, potions, leaves, and bandages.

Thomas dumps his supplies on the empty expanse of the comforter and grabs the arm nearest to him. Carefully, Thomas places Alexander’s hand in his lap and reaches for the suppressor. The runed metal brace is snug, but not tight, against Alexander’s skin, and Thomas feels along it until he finds the clasps on either side.

Thomas presses down on the buttons, having to use two hands to hit them all, and the brace pops off Alexander’s wrist with a _click_. It folds in the center, allowing Thomas to pull it straight off and toss it to the side. When he gets a look at the skin underneath, he almost feels sick. He’s always hated suppressors, but the sight of Alexander’s bruised, magically burned, fragile skin makes him want to personally kill whoever invented them.

Thomas pops off the other wrist brace, tossing it alongside its twin, and examines Alexander’s hands. The right one is far worse off, magic burns along his palm and fingers, but that doesn’t mean his left one is a pretty sight either. Both of his arms are the same ugly purple color, and when Thomas manages to wrestle Alexander’s shirt off his body he finds that the bruise extends all the way up to his shoulders and tapers off as it travels towards his chest.

Alexander’s stomach and chest are dotted with large bruises as well as a few burn marks. On his face, one of his eyes is already swelling and there’s a matching bruise on the jawline on the opposite side. Thomas eyes Alexander’s legs, which seem to have bore the worst of the magic burns. He’s not sure how much leeway he has right now, if stripping Alexander the rest of the way would be _okay_ , but he doesn’t know what else to do.

Well, that’s not exactly true. Thomas had been a field medic, he knows how to scan someone for injuries. But he hasn’t been able to do anything healing related since… since James. When his magic failed, it had _failed_ failed. Thomas looks down at his palms. He’d give anything to just be able to wave his hands over Alexander’s body and make this all go away like he used to be able to.

Thomas takes a breath, plants his hands on Alexander’s chest, and tries to draw from that well of magic inside of him. _Come on, just this once_ , he thinks, _please_. He focuses as hard as he can, he even gets to desperate as to mutter an incantation or two under his breath, but gets nothing.

Thomas opens his eyes. _Worthless,_ says the voice. _Can’t even do the most basic healing spell. Pathetic_. Gritting his jaw, Thomas tugs Alexander’s shorts off but leaves his boxers in place. There’s no way he can go that far. The pattern of bruises on this thighs look - well, not _okay_ \- but promising that there’s no major damage done to Alexander’s hips or pelvis.

Alexander’s wrists, hands and arms are already starting to swell, and Thomas grabs a disinfectant, anti-inflammatory salve and a roll of bandages. Starting with his wrists, Thomas slathers first the disinfectant and then the salve up the bruised skin. He wraps the skin once, and then on his second go around sprinkles needles from an arctic pine tree between the layers. The needles chill Alexander’s skin through the wrapping, they’ll lose their potency in about half an hour, but that’s perfect anyway.

Thomas repeats the process, slowly working all the way around Alexander’s body. His skin is hot to the touch, and Thomas can sometimes swear he feels the thrum of untamed magic racing through Alexander’s body. When Thomas is done, he can see more bandage than skin, and it’s all he can do.

Thomas stands, props Alexander’s head on a pillow, and then gathers everything on the bed. He drops healing supplies on the nightstand and then holds Alexander’s braces in his hands. For a moment, he just stares at them, then slips them his robe.

Cooper is hovering over Alexander’s still-unconscious body, and he chirps when Thomas returns. Thomas sighs, sitting down on the open side of the bed by Cooper. He absentmindedly runs his hand down Cooper’s back, mind consumed with worry. Cooper rears back to connect their heads.

**_Short hooman okay?_ **

“I hope so Coop,” Thomas says. Cooper sighs.

**_When wake up?_ **

“I wish I could tell you,” Thomas says. “It better be soon.”


	13. Chapter 13

Alexander does not wake up soon.

Thomas stays by his bedside the rest of the day doing paperwork and changing his bandages when needed. Cooper rotates between standing over Alexander, curling up beside him, and pacing the floor. Thomas ends up not eating dinner that night, the worry in his gut making him nauseous. Instead, he pulls the stool from the counter to sit on in a vigil.

Night falls and all Alexander has done is sleep. The swelling in his arms and wrists has gone down and the bracers in Thomas’ pocket serve as a grim reminder of how this happened. He replaces the needles in Alexander’s bandages, trying not to press too hard to any one bruise or burn.

It’s approaching one when Thomas’ worry comes to a head. Alexander hasn’t even moved in his sleep and he’s starting to wonder if Alexander is going to move again. Thomas tries another healing spell, gets nothing. The lack of light from his hands almost sends him into a panic. He can’t do anything but sit and hope. He’s worthless, useless -

But someone else might not be. Thomas lurches from Alexander’s bedside and borrows a sheaf of paper and pen from his desk. He scrawls out a letter, more a plea for help; his handwriting shaky and sloppy. When he’s done, he signs his name and tells Cooper to watch Alexander.

Thomas folds it up, grabs an envelope from Alexander’s desk, and apparates to the owlery. It might be late, but it’s open all hours of the day. The small office has a single worker inside, he’s tired and bleary as Thomas urgently shoves the letter and the postage fee into his hands. Thomas doesn’t leave until he sees the handler release the owl into the night, having spent a little extra for a faster animal.

When Thomas returns, Cooper is pacing up and down the bed, thrashing his tail. Thomas lands in the room, Cooper’s head snaps up and he barks at Thomas. “I wasn’t gone five minutes,” Thomas says. “It’s okay, I’m back.” Cooper shakes his head, barks again, and then points his snout at Thomas and Thomas realizes what’s gotten him into such a fit.

Alexander’s eyes are open. Thomas rushes to his side, hovering over him carefully. “Alexander?” he asks, hopeful. Alexander’s eye - the one not bandaged - is hazy with pain, unfocused, his pupil huge despite the light in the room.

“Mami?” Alexander asks in a weak whimper that breaks Thomas’ heart. Thomas leans over Alexander, frown etched into his face.

“No, Alex,” he mutters. Alexander stares, unseeing up at him.

“ _Ayúdame_ ,” he whispers. Thomas has to bite his lip to keep himself from making a sound. Alexander slowly raises one hand, bandaged hand grasping at air. “Mami, _por favor_. _Me duele_.”

Thomas grabs Alexander’s hand softly, trying not to cause him any more pain. With his other hand, he reaches up and runs it through Alexander’s hair. “Shh,” he finds himself saying. “Go back to sleep. Won’t hurt if you’re asleep.” Thomas feels his blood run cold even as he murmurs reassurances. Alexander really is that badly hurt, and Thomas can’t do anything.

It doesn’t take long for Alexander’s eye to shut again, for his breathing to ease - even if it’s just  a slight change. Thomas kneels by Alexander’s bedside, not willing to let go of his hand. Thomas looks up at the sleeping boy, wonders if this is what it was like for him while Thomas was delirious with fever.

\--------------

The sound of a loud _crack_ followed by a shout of “ _Thomas!_ ” jolts Thomas out of his vigil. He’d stayed up all night, holding Alexander’s hand like it was the only thing keeping the other man alive. Reluctantly, Thomas pulls his hand away and stands, his body complaining from exhaustion. He stumbles his way to Alexander’s door, pushes it open.

“In here,” he calls. Lafayette, already on his way to the counter, spins and makes a beeline towards him. Thomas moves out of the way, holding the door open for the other man. Lafayette gets one look at Alexander, even from a distance, and his face turns ashen.

“ _Merde_ ,” he mutters, going straight for Alexander’s bedside. Thomas joins him, both men hovering over Alexander’s unconscious form. Thomas carefully picks up the arm closest to him and unwraps the bandages over Alexander’s wrist. Lafayette looks down at the discolored, burned, thin skin.

“And this is with your healing?” Lafayette asks, eyes not leaving Alexander’s body. Thomas sighs.

“Laf, you know I can’t heal anymore,” Thomas says. Lafayette blinks and looks up at him.

“I would have thought, after six years, you could do _something_ ,” he says. Thomas shakes his head. Lafayette frowns, eyes narrowing.

“Have you _tried_?”

“Yes, obviously!” Thomas says. “Multiple times.” They glare at one another for a moment, then Lafayette lets out a breath.

“I am sorry,” he says. Thomas just nods, he understands. Alexander could be dying in front of them after all.

“Who put those damn bracers on him?” Thomas asks. “Who decided a _last year_ student needed _suppressors_?”

Lafayette sighs. “He came to the school with them on, refused to take them off and most of the faculty agreed with him.”

Thomas looks at him, wide-eyed. “Why did he have them as a twelve-year-old?! They should have been off years before that!” Lafayette looks at him, confused until he seemingly remembers something.

“Thomas, Alexander didn’t come to school until he was fourteen,” Lafayette says. “He’s not a pure-blooded wizard, he _couldn’t_ have come when he was twelve.”  Thomas looks down, blinking at his apprentice. “His dad was a squib, mom a mortal, they had no idea what to do with a wizard boy. No one taught him control, and when he came to school everyone thought it was too late. He was okay with keeping them on so…” Lafayette shrugs.

“They were _hurting_ him, Lafayette. Look at his wrist!” Thomas points to the still exposed skin. Lafayette nods.

“I tried, Thomas. He’s so powerful and smart, it’s how he could do seven years of study in five. I tried to convince him and others he didn’t need them, but no one would listen.” Lafayette looks down at the unconscious Alexander, a sad look in his eyes. “He can’t die from this, Thomas.”

“I’m trying, Laf. I was hoping you could -”

But Lafayette is shaking his head. “I was _never_ a healer. Out of the two of us, you’re the one -”

“I can’t -”

“ _Yes_ , you can!” Lafayette insists. “You’re just terrified that if you try you’ll fail again.”

“I _can’t!_ ” Thomas protests. “I can’t get the magic to work! I have _tried!_ ”

Lafayette looks at him with hard eyes. “You only think you tried. If you stopped being scared of yourself, you could _help_ Alexander.” Thomas looks at Lafayette helplessly, already shaking his head.

“Lafayette, I can’t. I would if I could. _I_ _can’t do it anymore_.”

“You and I both know that’s not how magic works,” Lafayette says. “You don’t just stop being able to do something that suddenly.”

“It’s what happened!” Thomas shoots back. Lafayette’s jaw tightens.

“Thomas Jefferson,” he says, his voice oddly calm. “Alexander is hurting. He might be _dying_. Think about this for a second. He’s so incredible, surely you’ve noticed. But he’s also the son of a squib and a mortal. The fact he is here, that he can go to school at all, is because of what you and I fought for. This boy -” Lafayette points at Alexander’s sleeping form - “is what James _died_ for.”

Thomas flinches, but Lafayette isn’t done. “And if you can’t get over yourself for _five minutes_ to help him, then I can’t think of a worse way to disrespect James’ memory. Past the drinking and everything else, letting Alexander Hamilton die because you won’t even really _try_? That’s the most blatant disregard for James’ sacrifice I have ever seen.”

Thomas is pinned under Lafayette’s cold glare. Lafayette won’t let up even as Thomas squirms, looking for anything to say. He looks down at Alexander, breaking under Lafayette’s stare. Thomas swallows, his hands tingling even without calling magic into them. Silently, he side steps, Lafayette moving out of his way so Thomas is directly over Alexander’s torso.

Already shaking, Thomas places his hands on Alexander’s chest, shuts his eyes, and takes a deep breath. _You can’t do this,_ says the voice. _You’re going to fail again_. Thomas grits his jaw and shoves it away. This has to work.

Thomas doesn’t think, simply reaching for the feel of the magic he knows is buried inside him. He feels it collect, spreading from his core into his hands and when Thomas cracks open his eyes he finds his fingertips lit up in purple magic.

Thomas gasps, and it dims in his shock. Instantly, Thomas feeds it again, feeling it strengthen as he slowly pushes tendrils of light underneath Alexander’s skin. His magic is a lighter color of purple than he’s used to these days, and it glows as it spreads through Alexander’s body.

An image pops into Thomas’ head, a facsimile of a human body lighting up with injuries. _Alexander’s_ injuries. Thomas feels tears of joy prick behind his eyes. He’s actually doing it. _Holy shit he’s actually doing it_.

A mental list of everything wrong with Alexander forms in his head, and it’s much worse than even Thomas thought it would be. But the fact that he _knows_ that Alexander’s bleeding into his stomach cavity and not just guessing is incredible. Thomas takes a shaking breath and feels the first tears start to spill.

Even as Thomas gets a final picture of the full extent of the damage, his magic is starting to falter. He hasn’t done this in so long, he’s far out of practice. With what of his power remains, Thomas heals some of the bruises on Alexander’s chest and face, as well as the burns on his legs. It finally runs out on him and pulls his hands away.

He stands there for a moment, staring at his hands in disbelief. “Lafayette,” he chokes out. “I -”

“I knew you could,” Lafayette says. Thomas looks up at him, a tearful smile on his face. Lafayette is beaming, he claps Thomas on the shoulder. Thomas staggers under the gentle blow, the lack of sleep and exertion catching up in one moment. Lafayette manages to catch him, leads him to the stool in the corner of the room.

“Are you alright?” Lafayette asks, suddenly frowning in concern. Thomas smiles.

“Never been better,” he says. Lafayette purses his lips.

“Okay.” Lafayette glances at Alexander’s sleeping form. “How is he?” Thomas blinks, recalling the injury map and list, and his smile collapses.

“He’s really bad Marq,” Thomas says, the seriousness of Alexander’s injuries just starting to occur to him. “There’s so much internal bleeding and part of his left lung has collapsed  His magic has burned him from the inside and I won’t even get started on his arms.” As the words leave his mouth, each instance of injury hits him harder and harder. “Most of his ribs are cracked and he’s got badly healed breaks in his hands and slipped disks -” Thomas’ breathing picks up, he’s starting to panic, Alexander is beyond damaged - “and his eye socket is collapsing and putting pressure on his eyes-”

Lafayette puts his hands on Thomas’ shoulders. “Thomas, calm down,” he says, voice low and even.

“How can I?” Thomas asks. “He’s - I’ve only got so much magic and he’s - he’s -” Thomas’ breath catches. _He’s going to die_ , he thinks. Thomas starts crying in earnest now, joyous tears turning terrified and broken. Lafayette inhales sharply, pulling Thomas into his chest.

“He’s not going to die,” Lafayette says, and Thomas wonders if he’s actually read his mind. “Not if you and I have anything to say about it.”

“But I _tried_ ,” Thomas says. “I tried and I don’t have the energy or practice to save him -”

“ _Shhh_ ,” Lafayette breathes. “We are alchemists, no? Think, what can we give him.”

Thomas takes a breath. “I’ve got blood clotters and bone regrowth serums, but his spine and the internal burns…” Lafayette hums, both trying to think of something. Thomas desperately runs through inventory in his head, there has to be something -

“Phoenix tears,” Lafayette announces. “That’ll take care of everything.” Thomas frowns.

“Do you think I have those?” Thomas asks. “I run a _botanica_ , not a rare creatures zoo-” Thomas gasps. “Maryam!”

“Who?” Lafayette asks as Thomas leans out of his arms.

“I have a friend who lives on the opposite side of town with a vet clinic and a ranch,” he explains. “If anyone has got any or knows how to get some, it’s her.” Thomas stands from the stool, only to almost collapse on weak knees. He falls back against the stool, just managing to keep himself upright.

“Thomas, you are in no shape to be moving,” Lafayette says. Thomas frowns.

“I have to -”

“No, tell me where this ranch is. I will go.” Thomas opens his mouth to protest, only to be met with Lafayette’s stubborn glare. Thomas doesn’t even try, letting Lafayette help him back onto the stool quietly. He gives Lafayette directions as the Frenchman raids Alexander’s kitchen. Lafayette hands Thomas a glass of juice with a promise to be right back and disappears out the door.

Thomas is left alone with a sleeping Alexander, or so he thinks until Cooper comes padding over from the other side of the room. He hops on Thomas’ shoulders, the weight comforting as Thomas slowly drains his glass. Thomas leans his head back against the wall, one hand running across his face.

**_Where not-hooman go?_ **

“To try and get something to help Alexander,” Thomas says. Cooper nods, his head extending out to watch Alexander sleep. For the first time, Thomas realizes that Cooper’s gotten bigger over the last weeks, longer rather than wider. If Cooper tried, he could probably almost make two loose circles around Thomas’ neck.

Instead, Cooper loops his body around Thomas’ shoulders and rests his neck on the top of Thomas’ head. They both sit there, watching Alexander, each rise and fall of Alexander’s chest sending spikes of both relief and fear through Thomas. He’s breathing, yes, but in ragged, short, uneven gasps.

When Lafayette returns, he apparates into Alexander’s room, Maryam in tow. Thomas looks up, watches as Lafayette levitates the papers off Alexander’s desk and conjures up a burner, beaker, and some water. Maryam is holding something in her arms, but her back is to him and Thomas can’t tell what it is.

“Over here,” Lafayette says, pointing to a clear part of the table. Thomas sways on his stool, unsure if he should stand, offer help. Lafayette glances over at that moment and shakes his head. “I’ve got this,” Lafayette says. Maryam looks over, braid whipping around as she carefully puts a golden cage on the table.

“You’ve got to stop calling me for emergencies,” she says. “Or rather, stop having emergencies.” She turns back to the table, where Lafayette is waiting with a vial.

“Alright, bring her out,” Lafayette says. Maryam nods and reaches for the cage. She flicks a latch, pulls open the door, and gently reaches inside.

“Come on, Será,” she coos, clicking her tongue. Thomas watches in awe as she extracts her hand arm and there’s a fiery red bird on her wrist. The creature is about as tall as Cooper is long, nose to tail-tip, a little over three feet. She’s the color of burning embers, and as her tail unfurls halfway to the floor, Thomas almost mistakes it for actual fire.

“There we go,” Maryam murmurs, carrying the phoenix on her arm carefully over to Lafayette. “Okay girl, we need a few tears, is that alright?”

The phoenix glances around the room, taking in her new surroundings with intelligent eyes. She barely spares Thomas a glance, but her focus zeros in on Alexander. She stills, breathing as she stares at the sleeping figure. Then she rustles her wings, turns to Lafayette, and starts to cry.

Glimmering tears the color of liquid copper emerge from bright golden eyes, and Lafayette scrambles to collect them all in his small vial. Thomas counts four just from the eye he can see, and hope starts to rise in his chest. Four phoenix tears can cure a whole regiment's wounds if distributed right.

The phoenix leans away from Lafayette, and he quickly puts the stopper back on the vial. “Thank you,” Maryam coos, free hand running down the length of the bird’s back. She leans down to put the phoenix back in her cage, but the creature isn’t having it.

The phoenix leaps from her arm, wings spreading as she takes off across the room. With two long strokes, she crosses the room and perches on the foot of Alexander’s bed. Now that she’s up close, Thomas can see how the scarlet feathers atop her head melt into the fiery reds, oranges, and golds that down the length of her body and wings.

“Seráfina?” Maryam asks, taking a careful step towards the bed. The phoenix - _Seráfina_ \- pulls her wings into her body and glances just once at Maryam.

**_I will stay with the boy_**.

The words bounce through Thomas’ head, the voice regal even as it echoes with power. Maryam starts, recoiling. Seráfina just turns around again, looking down at Alexander as if guarding him against harm. Maryam looks at Thomas, wide-eyed.

“I guess you’ve got a phoenix now,” she says. Thomas blinks.

“What? No, I can’t -”

Maryam shrugs, shaking her head in disbelief. “You can’t argue with a phoenix or make it do something it doesn’t want to do. Será wants to stay with Alex.”

Thomas looks between the woman and the bird in shock, though Será doesn’t look away from Alexander.

“Done,” Lafayette announces, turning around. He’s holding a glass in his hands, and he brings it with him when he comes to stand by Alexander’s bedside. He hands it to Thomas, who looks down at the shimmering solution inside. Lafayette’s diluted it in order to make it last as long as Alexander might need it.

Carefully, Lafayette pulls Alexander up into a sitting position. Seráfina watches them carefully, wings rustling in a warning. When Alexander is as far up as Lafayette dares move him, he reaches back for the glass, which Thomas hands over. Slowly, Lafayette opens Alexander’s mouth and raises the glass to his lips.

The solution trickles into Alexander’s mouth, Thomas watches a small amount escape down his chin, but Lafayette is careful. He gets through half the glass before putting it down on the nightstand and lowering Alexander back down to the bed. Thomas holds his breath as Lafayette steps back, not quite sure what’s expecting but hoping anyway.

Alexander’s breathing starts to even out, the sleeping man drawing slower and stronger breaths. Lafayette smiles, even as Alexander stays unconscious. Lafayette turns to Thomas. “Look, see? Phoenix tears, the ultimate in healing.”

“He’s still out,” Thomas points out. Lafayette waves a hand in the air.

“And he will be, but now he is _healing_.”

Thomas looks over at Alexander, still unsure. Once he’s rested, he’ll have to check. Lafayette puts the vial of remaining tears on the nightstand and goes about cleaning up the rest of his mess. Maryam starts to talk at him about Seráfina, but Thomas is barely listening.

Alexander’s breathing might be easier, but he’s still asleep. Until he fully awakens, Thomas knows the pit in his stomach won’t go away. He shifts on his stool, suddenly uncomfortable, skin prickling like someone is watching him. Then he notices that someone _is_ watching, or rather, a particular bird with fire-colored feathers and golden eyes.

**_He will be alright_**. **_He will live_**.

With that, Seráfina goes back to watching Alexander. Thomas, wide-eyed, stares at the creature. “Okay,” he breathes, suddenly too scared of her to argue. _Alexander will live_.

\--------------

Maryam leaves him with a set of written instructions for the care of a phoenix, and Thomas just catches that Será is on her seventh cycle. Something in his head tells him that means Seráfina is much older than anything he’s ever met before, but that doesn’t change anything. A fear of phoenixes, even older ones, is something healthy to keep.

Cooper doesn’t seem to understand that, however. The dragon hops off Thomas’ shoulders and climbs up onto the bed before her. He clicks, chirps, barks, does _anything_ to get her attention.

**_Human, please remove the hatchling from my presence,_** Seráfina says, and Thomas is happy to oblige. He collects Cooper, who huffs in disappointment as Thomas carries him away from the phoenix. He tries to impress upon the dragon that Seráfina is nothing to mess with, but Cooper is too distracted by staring at the bird to pay attention.

Lafayette stays as long as he can but has to return to school by dinnertime. “I can’t just disappear for a day,” he explains. “I am sorry.”

“I’ll write you,” Thomas promises. Lafayette nods.

“He’ll be okay. If he’s not, I’ll come down here and kick your ass,” Lafayette warns. Thomas offers a slight smile, and then Lafayette’s gone with a _crack_.

Thomas is careful to give Alexander a second dose after Lafayette leaves, feeling Seráfina’s eyes on him the entire time. Thomas manages to force himself to eat. When Alexander wakes up, he’ll most certainly ask if Thomas ate and he’ll be disappointed if Thomas tells him no.

At some point Seráfina walks her way across the bed to the headboard, hovering over Alexander. She would look like a vulture if it were not for the protective air she emits. Thomas ends up sitting by Alexander’s bedside, knees on the floor. He rests his chin on the comforter, watching Alexander sleep.

He blinks and it’s morning. His legs ache from staying in position, and his feet are beyond numb. He groans as he stretches, back popping. When he looks up, he finds that Alexander has shifted in the night, curling onto his side on his own power during the night. Thomas stands, having to hold onto the edge of the bed until the feeling in his feet return.

He thinks he’s good until he takes a step and nearly falls over. He slips into the bed, pressing into the mattress and accidentally rocking it. Alexander’s breathing hitches, he groans and his eye slides open.

Thomas instantly rights himself, stumbling to Alexander’s side as best he can. “Alexander?” He asks. Alexander blinks at him, the fog from yesterday gone.

“Jefferson?” He asks, voice groggy and still weak. Thomas nods, one hand curling into the comforter. Alexander shifts but stops with a gasp. “Fuck,” he mutters.

“How do you feel?” Thomas asks. Alexander winces.

“Everything hurts,” he says. Thomas nods.

“You gave me quite a scare. Here -” Thomas carefully helps Alexander into a sitting position, then hands him a glass of diluted tears. “Just drink half of it. The other half at dinner time.”

Alexander looks down at it, swirling the copper liquid. “What is it.”

“Diluted phoenix tears,” Thomas says. Alexander blinks, looking up at Thomas in shock. Thomas can’t help but smile at his wide-eyed expression. “I said you gave me a scare. You were out for almost two days, Hamilton.”

“How did you get this?” Alexander asks. Thomas simply points to where Seráfina is still perched on the headboard. Alexander turns his head, jaw dropping in shock when he sees her. “There is a phoenix on my bed.”

**_Hello_** , Seráfina says and Alexander jumps. **_Good to see you again, Alexander_**.

“Será?” He asks. Thomas blinks.

“You know her?” He asks. Alexander nods.

“Met her the day I got Coop. Watched her rebirth herself.” His voice is that of quiet awe, staring at the majestic bird in front of him.

“Well, that’s convenient,” Thomas says. “Seeing as she’s yours now.”

Alexander whips his head around, gasping at the pain. Thomas lurches forward, but Alexander just winces, takes a few breathes, and looks up at him. “You bought me a _phoenix_?”

**_I cannot be bought, I choose my companions willingly_**. Seráfina rolls her head on her neck, never taking her eyes off Alexander

“Sorry,” Alexander says, voice still pained. Thomas frowns.

“Drink up, Alexander,” he says. Alexander nods, downing the prescribed half-glass in a single swig. He blinks, and Thomas realizes he’s still almost completely bandaged up. “You wouldn’t mind if I check your injuries and change the bandages?” Thomas asks.

“No, go ahead,” Alexander says, gaze traveling back to Seráfina. Thomas sighs, perches himself on the side of the bed, and starts with Alexander’s head. He’d rather check by sight before using magic, just as a reassurance. When he takes off the wrappings around his eye, Thomas is relieved to find the black eye is almost completely gone, and fading even as he watches.

When Thomas unwraps Alexander’s arms, he gently feels along the other man’s hands and wrists. When Thomas’ fingers ghost across the damaged skin once hidden by the suppressors, Alexander jumps. Alexander looks down at his wrists, tearing his arms out of Thomas’ hands.

“Where are they?” Alexander asks. Thomas blinks.

“Your suppressors?” Thomas asks, unsure. Alexander nods.

“Yes, where the hell are they?!” There’s panic edging his voice, eyes wide as he looks down at the exposed skin of his wrists. Thomas fumbles with his robes until he manages to pull them out.

“Right here,” Thomas says. “I’ve got them.” He holds the metal bracers out for Alexander to see. The moment Alexander sees them, he reaches for them, practically lunging toward Thomas. Thomas jerks back, recoiling and holding the suppressors close to his chest.

“Give them back,” Alexander demands. Thomas shakes his head.

“You’re hurt, and you shouldn’t be wearing them anyway -”

“I _need_ them you asshole, give them back!” Alexander struggles, trying to push himself towards Thomas but he freezes, pain flooding his face. Thomas drops Alexander’s braces back into his pocket and carefully puts his hands on Alexander’s shoulders.

“Lie down, Alexander.” Thomas gently pushes Alexander back onto the bed. “You’re badly damaged.”

“Give me my suppressors,” Alexander repeats, voice now flecked with pain. Thomas shakes his head again.

“They’re hurting you. You can’t wear them anymore,” Thomas says. Alexander’s eyes widen. “Your body is fried from the inside from the force of holding back your magic.”

“You don’t _understand_ ,” Alexander says. “I _need_ them. I can’t control my magic.”

Thomas frowns. “We’re just going to have to change that, then.”

“How? Don’t you think I haven’t tried?” Alexander asks. Thomas stands back, hoping he’s not going to regret what he says when he opens his mouth.

“I’m going to teach you wandless magic,” he says. Alexander looks up at him shock. “You said no one will teach you at Mount Vernon, so I will. It’s the ultimate form of magical control. Lafayette is of the opinion you don’t even _need_ a wand and - after seeing what you can do even with prison-strength suppressors on - I’m inclined to agree.”

Alexander looks up at him, surprise playing out across his feature before shaking his head. “Not without my braces.”

Thomas’ frown deepens. “The point would be for you _not_ to wear them.”

“Well, I _need_ them so I don’t hurt anyone.”

Thomas has to take a deep breath. “But you’ve been hurting yourself! When I say your body is fried, I mean that _literally_. You’ve got internal burns and bleeding. Don’t you feel that?”

Alexander shrugs. “I’m used to it.”

“So you just walk around with fractured hands and collapsed lungs?” Thomas asks. “That’s not _good_ Hamilton! You’re going to kill yourself one day. You almost did!”

“...you know there’s a certain irony to this conversation,” Alexander says. “Considering how you’ve almost killed yourself with booze -”

“ _This isn’t about me_ ,” Thomas snaps. “You’re not putting those suppressors back on. Period.”

“At least let me have them back?” Alexander asks. Thomas’ eyes narrow.

“No,” he replies. “You’ll put them on and won’t let me take them off.”

“I swear to you, I just want them back.”

“Give me a reason.” Alexander hesitates, face carefully guarded. Thomas sighs. “You’re not getting them back until after you master wandless magic. _If_ you’re getting them back at all.” Alexander’s eyes light up in protest, but Thomas cuts him off. “You need to sleep.”

“Jefferson -”

“I’m going to check your internal injuries and then you’re going to sleep,” Thomas repeats. Alexander huffs, defiance in his expression even as Thomas lays his hands on Alexander’s chest. The magic is easier to call this time, faster as it travels through Alexander’ body and Thomas is relieved to find that yes, Alexander is healing. His lung is almost completely healed and the bleeding in his stomach has stopped. Thomas pulls his hands away. “Alright, bed.”

“This conversation isn’t over,” Alexander warns. Thomas rolls his eyes and straightens the comforter.

“Go to sleep, you little gremlin.”

Alexander grumbles something to himself, painfully rolls over onto his side away from Thomas, and shuts his eyes. Thomas waits until Alexander is asleep before leaving Cooper and Seráfina by his bedside. He walks to the hallway, reveals the door to his garden and heads inside.

Thomas makes his way to the very back, to the last plot not completely covered in life. The blue fortune buds he’d planted there seem to be taking root, some of the stems even starting to form little flower buds. _Something green might look nice against them_ , Thomas thinks. _Dragon’s tongue, maybe?_

Thomas kneels down and drops Alexander’s suppressors onto the dirt. There’s no way he’ll find them here, Thomas knows. He doesn’t bother burying them, just leaves them there in case, for whatever reason, he does find it appropriate to return them.

_Not likely_ , Thomas thinks as he walks away.


	14. Chapter 14

Angelica carefully paces around Thomas, heels clicking on the tile as she scrutinizes him from every angle. Thomas has no idea what she’s looking for - a bottle sticking out of his pocket, the scent of booze wafting off him, a giant sign reading ‘I’m drunk’ - but she’s sure searching hard. Alexander, who had insisted on being here for this, is sat on Thomas’ stool and wrapped in a blanket. In his hands is a health shake made of fruit and diluted phoenix tears.

Angelica hums to herself. “You’re more sober than I thought you would be.”

“I wasn’t aware there were levels of sobriety,” Thomas drawls. “You’re either sober or you’re not.”

“When I say ‘Thomas Jefferson is sober,’ the implication is that you’ve only had a few drinks,” Angelica replies, coming to stand before him. “But you are stone cold sober.”

“Haven’t had a drop of alcohol in a month,” Thomas says. Angelica’s eyebrows shoot up.

“You’ve been sober for a whole month? 30 days? Completely? I’m impressed.”

“Thank Alexander for that,” Thomas sighs. Angelica looks over at Alexander, a curious sort of look on her face.

“Alright,” she says. “And I suppose Alex has something to do with your little additions?” Cooper and Seráfina are on the counter next to Alexander, Seráfina on a makeshift perch beside Cooper’s bed. Cooper picks his head up and wags his tail at Angelica.

“The sole cause,” Thomas says.

“You love them,” Alexander says. Thomas rolls his eyes.

“Coop, yes. Seráfina? She terrifies me.”

 ** _As it should be,_** the phoenix says. Alexander laughs, head thrown back against the wall. Thomas smiles at the sound, not noticing the way Angelica glances between them, horrified realization dawning on her face.

“Oh my God,” she breathes. Thomas looks at her, one eyebrow cocked. She looks at him, then quickly shakes her head. “Nothing, I just remembered… Mar wants me to pick something up from the store.”

“How is the wife?” Thomas asks. Angelica smiles.

“Maria’s good, she sends her love. She sent an ass-kicking if I found you drunk, but you got her love.”

“Wait,” Alexander says. “You actually _did_ elope with Maria Lewis?” Angelica nods, a love-struck smile stretching across her face. “‘Liza and Peggs said you did but no one believed it.” Angelica holds up her hand with her wedding band and Alexander whistles. “Damn. You got yourself a catch right there.”

“Oh, I know,” she says, a twinkle in her eye. “Speaking of Eliza, she just got back from Europe. Said her apprenticeship went well, and she’s coming to visit.”

“Tell her to stop by,” Alexander says. Angelica nods.

“I will, be sure of it.” Angelica turns her attention back to Thomas. “As for you, I’ll see you tomorrow with about twenty children.”

“Looking forward to it,” Thomas says. Angelica shoots them both one last smile and apparates from the store. Thomas lets out a sigh of relief.

“Well, I guess you won,” Alexander says. “I mean, you did almost relapse but you didn’t so… I, Alexander Hamilton, hereby assert that Thomas Jefferson does _not_ have a drinking problem.”

Thomas looks over at him to find Alexander sitting there with a false smile on his face. Slowly, Thomas shakes his head. “Don’t, Alexander. You… you were right.” Alexander blinks.

“You’re admitting it?” He asks. Thomas sighs.

“Yes.”

“You’re admitting you have a drinking problem.”

“Would you like it in writing or…?”

Alexander grins. “Does this mean you’re not going to just start drinking after the kids leave tomorrow?” Thomas sighs.

“Nope.”

Alexander’s entire face lights up. The grin alone is enough to make Thomas swear never to drink again if it means _that’s_ what happens.

\--------------

“It doesn’t hurt to be careful,” Thomas says, carefully stacking the last of the breakables above the reach of child arms.

“What could be so bad?” Alexander asks. “I can see them from down the street. They’re all organized and calm.” Thomas rolls his eyes as Alexander keeps talking. “Angelica and Eliza have got them all in a row, it’ll be fine!”

Thomas doesn’t say anything, just puts the last of the bottles up and goes to perch himself behind the counter. He holds the sales book in front of his face, hiding behind the large, leather-bound book.

“What the hell are you doing?” Alexander asks as Thomas kicks his feet up onto the counter.

“You’ll see,” Thomas grunts back. “Pretend like you don’t see them.”

“What -”

But Alexander’s question is cut off by the ringing of the bell. Thomas can hear the stifled giggles of children and the only barely muffled footsteps as they approach the counter. He hears a child shush her companions, and he fights to keep the smile off his face. The children gather around the counter, somehow all managing to fall silent for Angelica’s whispered count. “3… 2… 1!”

“HELLO MR. JEFFERSON!” The children shout in unison. Thomas pretends to startle, dropping the book from his hands and sending it clattering to the floor. He jolts up in his seat, looking over the two rows of children crowded in front of him. They laugh and giggle as Thomas starts up his usual routine.

“Oh, my!” He says. “I didn’t see you all there!” The giggles continue as he looks to the group, wide-eyed. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s field trip day, Mr. Jefferson,” Angelica explains, a gentle smile on her face.

“Did you forget again?!” A little girl accuses. Thomas shoots her an exaggerated pout.

“And if I did?” He says, gathering another round of giggles.

“You always forget!” Chimes in the girl.

“Are you feeling better Mr. Jefferson?” asks a boy struggling to look over the counter he’s so short. Thomas smiles down at him.

“Yes, thank you for asking.” He looks back at the gathered children, the smile on his face far from fake. “Who remembers the rules here in the shop?”  A girl shoots her hand up, wiggling it in the air. Thomas points at her and the girl rattles off Thomas’ rules.

“Don’t touch, eat, or smell anything unless you say.”

“Good.” Thomas grins at the group. “So, who wants to go back into the biomes?” Instantly, the entire group explodes into ‘me’s and ‘I do’s and once child even bounces in place. He holds up a hand, and it takes a moment but eventually the children quiet. “Before we go, an introduction is in order. Kids, this is Mr. Hamilton.” Thomas points at Alexander, who is standing in the back with a young woman that Thomas doesn’t recognize. “Say hello.”

“HELLO MR. HAMILTON,” the children chime, and Alexander starts.

“Hey,” he offers, waving awkwardly with one hand.

“Mr. Hamilton is my apprentice, that means he works for me, and if he says not to do something, don’t do it, okay?” Thomas says. The kids nod, and Thomas smiles again. “Alright! This way!”

Thomas leads the group of children back into the greenhouse, taking them into the kindest biomes. They spend a while in the grasslands, Thomas lets them try a leaf of diana’s perfumer and watches them as they grimace and spit it out.

“Bitter, huh?” Thomas says. The kids nod, jeering at the taste. “Now smell each other's breaths.” The kids hesitate until one of the loudest boys from the front sticks his face in his friend’s and breathes. The friend recoils then blinks.

“It smells like mint!” He announces. Thomas nods, and the other kids repeat the experiment. Soon, there’s a bunch of kids blowing air in each other's faces, and Angelica is staring over their heads at him, her face reading: ‘are you serious?’

Thomas just grins back. “Come on, I want to show you something called dragon’s tongue.”

Thomas leads the kids through some of the more exotic biomes, showing off his ‘flashy’ plants before he teaches them a small lesson about how to pick out poison ivy from other plants. This has to be educational _somehow_ after all. By the time he’s done, the children are starting to complain of hunger.

When he leads the group back out into the shop, Maryam is there, amicably chatting with Alexander and the other woman. He shoots her a smile, acknowledging her presence. She smiles back, and then her gaze travels to Angelica. Maryam smiles at her too, and Angelica instantly spins to face the kids.

“What do we say before we leave?” Angelica asks, voice oddly strained.

“THANK YOU,” the children intone, and Thomas smiles.

“You’re very welcome. Come back next month, now.”

There’s a muttering of goodbyes as Angelica leads them out onto the sidewalk. They’ll plant themselves in the park a little down the street for a picnic lunch. The woman by Alexander’s side waves as she follows the group out and Thomas catches Angelica sneaking glances at Maryam through the window glass. He smiles, rolling his eyes to himself as he catches Maryam watching Angelica go out of the corner of her eye.

“She’s married,” Thomas says. Maryam spins, a blush rising to her face.

“I don’t know why you would mention that,” Maryam says. “Good for her though.” Thomas shakes his head.

“What did you need?” He asks. Maryam glances at Alexander.

“I was hoping to grab a few feathers and a couple tears from Será. Alexander got me squared away.” Alexander nods, and Maryam turns to Thomas. “I’ll be off then,” she says and waves a short goodbye. There’s a moment of silence, then -

“You sure like kids,” Alexander says. Thomas hums noncommittally. “You’re still grinning, you fucking nerd.”

“Who was the other woman?” Thomas asks, feeling embarrassment flicker in his chest.

“Eliza, Angelica’s sister,” Alexander says. “She’s my year, wants to go into early childhood magical development.” There’s a breezy look on his face, and he stares down the street the Schuyler sisters and children disappeared down.

“What?” Thomas asks.

“She…” Alexander pauses, takes a breath and commits. “She asked me on a date.”

“Oh?” Thomas asks, eyebrows rising. His stomach flips as Alexander nods. “Did you accept?”

“Yes,” Alexander says. Thomas’ smile slips.

“That’s nice.” Thomas drums his hands against the counter. He tries not to feel too disappointed, tries to ignore the jealous feeling in his gut. Alexander must have come to a decision, and he didn’t choose Thomas. One hand comes up to scratch his beard as he extracts himself from behind the counter. “I’m going to go clean up the biomes.”

He can feel Alexander’s eyes on him as he leaves. Before he heads into the greenhouse, he opens the door to his apartment. Cooper tumbles down the stairs in his rush to be free and Seráfina lazily hops after him. She can’t spread her wings in the small staircase but somehow manages to make her hopping graceful. Thomas scoops Cooper into his arms and carries him into the greenhouse with him.

\--------------

The next day, Thomas stops Alexander before he opens the shop. “We’re going out back,” Thomas says, pulling Alexander through the front door and around to the back lot of the shop. Alexander struggles to keep up with his shorter legs, jogging beside Thomas.

“What are we doing?” Alexander asks. Thomas glances down.

“I told you, I’m going to teach you wandless magic,” he replies. Alexander’s eyes light up, both in excitement and fear. Thomas leads him into the open field behind the botanica, making sure there’s a half-decent distance between them and it.

“Okay,” Thomas starts. “First things first, give me your wand.” Alexander blinks, then pulls his wand from his back pocket and hands it over to Thomas. It feels odd in Thomas’ hand, he hasn’t held a wand in years, but he just sticks it in his robes and looks up at Alexander.

Alexander stands there, hands awkwardly patting his own thighs like he’s not sure what to do with them. Thomas rolls up his sleeves, glances around to make sure they’re the only non-plant life forms in the area, and takes a breath.

“The first thing you need to know about wandless magic is that it’s all about control.” Alexander opens his mouth, but Thomas holds up one hand to stop him. “It’s not about control like holding _back_ your magic, it's about controlling how it flows through you and how you shape it.”

Alexander frowns, and Thomas pauses, trying to figure out how to explain it. “Okay, think about it like a windmill. You are a windmill and your magic is the wind around you. You can’t stop it from blowing and turning the mill, but you can decide what you use that turning for. Does that make sense?”

“...no.”

Thomas frowns, running a hand over his mouth. “It’s like… growing a patch of vines!” Alexander blinks, eyebrows furrowing. “No, hear me out. If you want to grow a vine, you have to give it something to grow _on._ You can’t just plant it in the ground and expect it to flourish. It’s going to grow, sure, but if you lash it to a fence and tell it _where_ to grow, it’ll flower. Wandless magic is like that. Magic is going to want to escape your body, and it’s your job to give it a direction to go.”

“You can’t stop it from growing, but you can get it to grow the way you want it to!” Alexander says, catching on. Thomas nods, smiling.

“So, if you’re focused and in control, you can get it to whatever you want it to do.” Thomas holds out his hand beside him. “Now, wands act like a filter to help you shape spells and propel them into the world. You don’t have that anymore, so most people who practice wandless magic use hand motions to help them get spells right. For example…”

Thomas flicks his hand in a half circle, moving downwards and ending palm up. There, in the space above his hand is a floating orb of light. “A simple _lumos_ spell ends up being a sphere, so I use my hand to help imagine where it’s going to be.”

Alexander’ eyes wide, nods. “Don’t worry about copying me, everyone has their own set of movements they use,” Thomas says. “But you can start by trying to use my technique for _lumos_. And don’t be ashamed if you have to use incantations at first.”

Alexander’s face sets, he holds out his hand in front of him, palm towards the ground. Thomas can see the focus on his face as he flicks his hand downward. “ _Lumos_ ,” he hisses, but not even a spark appears. Alexander frowns at the empty air.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” Thomas says. “It’s more of a feeling. Find the magic inside you and push it into the air from your hand.” Alexander looks at him like he doesn’t quite understand, but nods anyway. A second attempt yields the same result, as does a third.

Alexander scowls in frustration. “Goddamn it,” he hisses. “I swear I’m strong enough for this.” Thomas nods, trying to keep the confusion off his face for Alexander’s sake.

“I think so too, are you sure you’re not putting too much thought into it?” Thomas asks. Alexander nods.

“ _Lumos!_ ” he says again, trying a slightly different hand motion and still getting nothing. Thomas’ eyebrows furrow. Alexander hasn’t had a problem calling magic based on feeling before, his near-death experience proved that, why isn’t it working now? Alexander is obviously trying so hard -

 _“You only think you are trying,”_ Lafayette’s words come back to him. “ _If you stopped being scared of yourself, you could help Alexander.”_

 _That’s it_ , Thomas realizes. “Alexander!” he calls. Alexander stops yet another attempt. There’s frustration building in his eyes as he looks up at Thomas. “Stop being afraid of your own power.”

“What?” Alexander asks.

“Stop holding yourself back,” Thomas says.

“I’m not,” Alexander replies, but Thomas shakes his head.

“You only _think_ you aren’t. Stop trying to hold your magic back, just let it flow,” Thomas insists. Alexander takes a breath, looking up at Thomas wide-eyed.

“I can’t control my magic fully, that’s why you’re teaching me this.”

“If you don’t let it go, you won’t get anywhere without a wand.” Thomas pulls out Alexander’s wand. “This is your crutch, your filter, along with your suppressors. _You don’t need them_. Try again, but this time don't’ hold anything back.”

Alexander still looks scared, but he sets his jaw and nods. He takes another breath, repositions his hand, and says: “ _Lumos_.” Before he can even move his hand, a bolt of bright green magic shoots from his palm and into the ground. Alexander jumps back, holding his hand as far away from his body as he can, but Thomas just looks at the burned grass with a grin on his face.

“See!” Thomas says. “Now you just gotta shape it. And maybe let it out a little slower.”

Alexander looks between the singed spot on the ground, and back up at Thomas. He shakes his head. “ _That_ wasn't controlled!” He says. “That was just -”

“Alexander, it’s alright. That’s what everyone’s first attempt looks like. It’s what the first _few_ attempts look like. Keep trying. Adjust your output and shape the feeling of the spell with your hand.” Alexander looks up at him like he’s crazy, but Thomas cocks one eyebrow. “We’re not going inside until you have a functional, wandless _lumos_.”

“But -”

“No buts,” Thomas says. Alexander sighs, exasperated. His second attempt it better, the magic actually collects in a little ball before exploding outward. Both Thomas and Alexander hit the ground to avoid getting hit, and when they get up he can see the defeat starting to mount in Alexander’s eyes.

 _Come on, just get it once,_ Thomas thinks. If Alexander can manage it once, he’ll be fine. Alexander takes a deep breath, holds out his hand, and hisses the incantation one more time. He flicks his hand slightly differently than Thomas’ motion, and the magic curls into a sphere in the air. Thomas’ feels his breath catch, waiting.

And then it solidifies into a fully formed _lumos_ spell. Alexander looks at the orb floating above his palm, wide-eyed. “There you go!” Thomas cheers

“I did it,” Alexander says. “I did it and no one got hurt.”

“I told you!” Thomas says though he doesn’t think Alexander is listening to him until the man turns to him with a blinding grin.

“Show me something else!”

\--------------

Alexander has far more energy - both physical and magical - than Thomas, and by the time dinner rolls around, Alexander is still going. His most recent accomplishment is conjuring up an aiming dummy, then blasting that dummy to smithereens with a lighting bolt.

Thomas is entranced, watching Alexander move. He’s gone almost full-body with some of his gestures, and as he erects another dummy, his hips shimmy from side to side. He doesn’t stop at one this time, creating a small army of dummies at the end of the field. Once he’s done, Alexander turns to destroying them one at a time with different spells.

It’s like he’s dancing almost, as he shifts between a firebolt and a levitation spell, slamming a flaming dummy into the ground with a smooth move of his arm. An ice bolt is accompanied with a thrust of his hips and Thomas feels like he’s going to die himself.

He’s sitting on the grass, watching Alexander experiment and calling encouragements from time to time. He’d be pissed that Alexander seemingly mastered something in a day that took him _months_ to gain proficiency in, but he’d gotten distracted by Alexander’s _leviterra_. A _full body_ roll leaving his hands in the air and a stretch of skin around his waist exposed.

He tries not to stare, but if Alexander asks, he can always say he was watching for safety reasons. It’s not his fault if Alexander can move his hips in ways that should not be possible for a man to move.

When Alexander’s done with that round, Thomas calls: “Alright, it’s dinner time.”

“Just one more round!” Alexander begs, like a small child asking for one more turn on the playground slide.

“You’ve got to eat,” Thomas says. Alexander groans, and makes a show of dragging his feet back to Thomas. He opens his mouth to protest but is interrupted by his own stomach growling. Thomas cocks an eyebrow, and Alexander sighs.

“Fine,” he says. Thomas holds out his hand, and Alexander helps him up. The warmth of his hand in Thomas’ is nice but gone a heartbeat later. They walk back to the front of the shop side-by-side, and Thomas fights the urge to reach out and take Alexander’s hand again.

“So,” Alexander starts, “can I have my wand back now?”

“Yeah, sure.” Thomas reaches into his robe and pulls out Alexander’s wand. It’s a shorter wand, the handle a dark brown but the rest an off-white. It’s respectable, fairly stiff, but fairly inornate. Alexander takes it when it’s offered to him, twirling it between his fingers before sticking it in his pocket.

“Do you still use your wand from time to time, or just wandless?” Alexander asks. Thomas hums.

“I don’t, but back during the war, I sometimes would if we’d been fighting for a while without a break,” he says. “Just as support, you know?” Alexander nods, then blinks, brow furrowing.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen your wand,” he says, unlocking the shop door with a wave of his hand. Thomas rolls his eyes.

“You wouldn’t have. I snapped it,” Thomas explains. He almost stops in his tracks when he realizes what he’s admitted. Alexander looks at him in shock.

“You _snapped_ your wand?” He repeats. Thomas nods, his body stiffening on instinct. “How could you?”

“I didn’t want it anymore,” he says. “Reminded me of too much.”

Alexander looks at him like Thomas has lost his mind. “How could you _snap_ something as precious as your wand? That was _your_ wand.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” Thomas can feel himself shutting down, his voice growing harder by the second. And Alexander is still looking at him with that dumbfounded expression.

“I… I didn’t get my wand until I was almost fourteen years old. I wasn’t legally allowed to have one before that. Washington took me _personally_ to get it. How could you destroy something so... So…” Alexander makes a motion with his hands. “Irreplaceable?”

“I didn’t have it on me when James died, and maybe if I had I could have saved him!” Thomas snaps. A silence stretches between them, and Thomas collects himself. When he speaks again, it’s cold. “We didn’t open, so you’re done for the day. Sleep well.”

Thomas whirls on his heels and goes to march upstairs when a hand closes around his wrist. “Do you want to talk about it?” Alexander asks after a pause. Thomas almost laughs. He looks over his shoulder and for the first time in six years, something in him says _talk_.

But he just shakes his head, pulls his hand from Alexanders and heads into his apartment. Cooper is there waiting for him, and the moment they’re in the same room Cooper jumps on Thomas’ shoulders.

**_What do all day?_ **

Thomas gives Cooper a rundown of the day in images as he gets ready for bed. When the time he’s done, he’s crawling into bed. Cooper chirps excitedly, and Thomas realizes he’s just fed Cooper a day of admiring Alexander.

**_Short hooman mate now?_ **

Thomas sighs. “I wish Cooper. I wish short hooman mate.”

**_Why still not?_ **

“Because I don’t deserve him, and he’s going to leave, and he’s going on a date with a girl and whole bunch of other reasons Coop.”

**_...but short hooman mate._ **

Thomas sighs. “Let it go, Coop. It’s not going to happen.” Thomas curls in on himself under the blankets. _Let it go_.


	15. Chapter 15

A couple of days pass. Eliza Schuyler shows up to make arrangements with Alexander; Thomas tries not to glare from behind a shelf. Alexander starts practicing wandless magic whenever he can, to the point that Thomas has to remind him of the old ‘no magic’ rule. Angelica comes in, asking where she can find Maryam usually.

Seráfina accidentally teaches Cooper to fly.

She gets restless one day and does laps around the shop front to stretch her wings. Cooper just copies her, desperate to impress the phoenix whenever he can. It’s almost cute, like the little sibling trying to do everything the elder does. _Almost_ being the operational word, Thomas and Alexander having to clean up the mess caused by Cooper’s clumsy first few minutes in the air dull the ‘cute’ factor.

“I can’t believe neither of us won that bet,” Alexander moans, mopping up a spilled freezing potion and having to stop to warm up the mop head every few seconds. Thomas just grunts and rolls his eyes. The shop bell rings, and Thomas looks up from where he’s sweeping up torn leaves.

“Welcome to Madison’s…” Thomas trails, taking in the two newcomers. More specifically, their uniforms. “Alexander!” he shouts. “Two of your Mount Vernon friends are here.” Alexander pokes his head out of his aisle and then breaks into a smile.

“Theo!” He says, and the woman smiles back. Alexander’s smile slips a bit as he then addresses the man: “Burr.”

“Hello Alexander,” Burr says, nodding stiffly. Alexander leans the mop against the shelf.

“What are you two doing here?”

“Oh, we were in town -” Theo starts, but Burr cuts her off.

“Headmaster Washington sent us,” Burr says. “Professor Lafayette said something about you getting sick.”

“Oh, yeah,” Alexander says, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m good now.” Burr nods.

“Obviously,” he says. Theo swats him gently on the stomach.

“I told them he’d be fine. But who listens to me?” She asks.

Burr offers Theo a small smile. “Everyone dear, but it’s Alexander.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alexander asks. Thomas snorts.

“Understandable,” Thomas says. Instantly, both Burr’s and Theo’s eyes are on him.

“Oh, where are our manners?” Theo asks. “Theodosia Bartow.” She sticks her hand out, and Thomas takes it. The moment their hands touch, she blinks rapidly, head jerking back slightly. Then she breaks out into a smile.

“Aaron Burr,” Burr says, offering his hand as well. Thomas, giving Bartow one last glance, takes his hand. He simply shakes Thomas’ hand, no reaction anywhere near Bartow’s, but when he’s done he turns to glare at Alexander.

“So,” Bartow starts. “You and Alexander getting along?” Thomas frowns. Her tone reminds him of those old gossipers at school who would act like they knew more than you, always. He shares a glance with Alexander, who also is frowning.

“As well as one might get along with Alexander,” he says carefully. Bartow smile turns wry, eyes glittering. Burr sighs from beside her.

“Don’t get excited dear,” he says. Bartow’s smile doesn’t fade, but she glances over her shoulder.

“You don’t have to be such a party pooper all the time love,” she says, just short of snappish. Burr raises one eyebrow just slightly. Bartow lets out a sigh, turns around and nudges him on the shoulder. “We’ll talk, okay?”

Thomas watches the exchange, not sure exactly what’s happening but not sure he wants to know either. Bartow turns to Alexander and holds her hand out. Alexander immediately crosses his arms, taking a step back.

“Nu-uh,” he says. Bartow pouts.

“Come on, help me prove to Aaron it’s not all doom and gloom,” she says. Alexander shakes his head.

“Isn’t it enough you got Jefferson?” He asks. Thomas recoils slightly, eyes widening. He decides he _does_ want to know how he was ‘got.’ Before he can open his mouth, however, Burr puts his hand on Bartow’s shoulder.

“We got what we came for Theo. Alexander’s alive, we can go.” Bartow opens her mouth to protest, but Burr cuts her off. “We’re going to miss pudding night if we stay.”

Instantly, Bartow spins on her heels. “Bye!” she says, waggling her fingers over her shoulder. “I’d wish you good luck, but you two don’t need it.” She exits out the door, and Burr gives them a grim look.

“Yeah you do,” he says before following her. Thomas stares at the door for a moment before looking to Alexander in confusion. Alexander sighs.

“That,” he says, “was the seer couple of this year’s graduating class.” Thomas blinks.

“ _Seers_?” He asks. Alexander nods.

“They both see the future, Theo the good things and Burr the bad. Don’t try and track them down to ask what they saw in your future, they won’t tell you. They just talk about it between themselves and it’s so goddamn annoying. I mean, Theo’s a sweet girl but Burr… well, he’s Burr and they’re so fucking lovey-dovey it’s disgusting.” Alexander shudders. “Love is gross.”

“You seem to have quite an opinion on those two,” Thomas observes. Alexander nods.

“Burr was the first student I met at school. I thought we were going to be friends and then he just kinda… I mean… he just has no personality! Doesn’t say anything someone might find offensive.” Alexander shakes his head. “Whatever. Don’t put too much thought into them. It’ll drive you mad trying to guess what they saw.”

Alexander picks up the mop again, going back to work muttering about Burr and his ‘gloom seer bullshit.’ Thomas looks down the street where they had gone, but they’re nowhere to be seen.

_“You and Alexander getting along?”_ Bartow’s almost mocking tone comes back to him. Thomas shakes his head. Seers are a weird bunch.

\--------------

Alexander isn’t doing his morning chores when Thomas comes down the next day. In fact, he’s nowhere in the shop. Thomas goes to knock on his bedroom door when he finds the note taped there.

_I’m taking the day off. I’ll be back around dinner. -A.Ham_

Thomas frowns, holding the paper in his hands. Alexander doesn’t just take off, that’s not like him. A knot of worry forms in his stomach, but there’s nothing to be done. He has no idea where Alexander has gone or why.

So Thomas opens the shop, trying to distract himself with work. Whenever his eyes ghost over the note, or Alexander’s closed door, or Será perched on a shelf, his gut twists. The shop feels so empty without Alexander, even with the two animal additions. It doesn’t help that it’s a slow day. Every time the bell rings, Thomas looks up hopeful but is let down each time.

The sound of Alexander apparating outside the window makes Thomas jump, even as it’s muted by the glass. It really is about dinner time, just like Alexander said, but Thomas hasn’t eaten all day. Alexander is dressed head-to-toe in a black suit, hands stuck in his pockets. When he walks in the door, Thomas is already making his way towards him.

“Alexander,” he says, relief flooding through him now that Alexander’s back. “Where have you been all day?”

Alexander just looks at him. “Out,” he responds. Thomas blinks, stopping just beside him. Alexander smells of the ocean, of sea-salt, and his hair is tousled like the wind got to it.

“Alex -”

“I’m still not on duty today,” Alexander says. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.” He speaks in clipped words, dismissal obvious in his voice. But if there’s one thing both Thomas and Alexander share, it’s a deep stubbornness.

“What’s wrong?” Thomas asks, even as Alexander turns to head into his bedroom. “Alexander, talk to me.”

Alexander shoots him a look seeped in irony, throws open his door and disappears behind it. Thomas sighs and glances at the clock. It’s close enough to closing, Thomas has closed shop earlier before. So he locks the door and flips the sign before making his way to Alexander’s bedroom door.

“Alexander,” he calls, knocking stiffly. “Open the door.” He doesn’t dare try to open it himself, even if he wasn’t sure it would burn him Thomas wouldn’t dare. Alexander doesn’t reply, and Thomas knocks again. “At least tell me where you were? I’m kind of in charge of your well-being and I should know where you’ve been all day?” Still, there is silence from the other side of the door. Thomas rests his forehead against the cool wood.

“Alexander, this isn’t like you,” he says. “Open the door so we can talk.” Thomas holds his breath, waiting for Alexander’s response. “Please?” The stretching silence tells Thomas that Alexander isn’t going to do as he asked.

So Thomas turns, plants his back against the door and slides into a sitting position. “Alright. I’m going to sit right here then until you talk.” If Alexander had been stubborn in slipping past Thomas’ walls, then Thomas was going to be the most persistent man on earth right now.

For a bit, Thomas just sits in silence, staring at the opposite wall. There’s an ache in Thomas’ heart at the thought Alexander might be hurting. He can’t hear anything from past the door, and in the distance, he hears Cooper chirping to himself from the countertop. He _has_ to get Alexander to talk. But how?

_Talk yourself,_ he realizes. _Alexander’s been asking you for months, so talk_. Thomas sighs, draws his knees up to his chest and leans his head back against the door.

“I met James for the first time when I was two years old,” Thomas says, speaking loudly and clearly so Alexander can hear him through the door. “I don’t remember it, of course, but there’s a picture of the two of us covered head-to-toe in dirt in my father’s backyard. My parents moved into our house when I was two and the Madisons were our neighbors. They came over to welcome our family to the neighborhood and brought their son with them and the rest is history.”

There’s still silence, so Thomas continues. “My earliest memory is of James. I think it was his fourth birthday, or maybe it was mine? I just remember he had been upset about something so I decided the best way to make him laugh would be to stick my face right into the birthday cake. One of the parents got upset at me so James did it too. Someone tried to scold us but we kept laughing at each other covered in icing.”

Thomas takes a breath to start another story when Alexander speaks. “My first memory is of my mom just smiling at me. Nothing else, just that.” Thomas waits to see if Alexander has anything else to say, but is met with silence.

“My mom was a nice lady,” Thomas says. “Kind. Dad was always working so she was the one who taught her kids how to control our magic. She used to cook a lot, so she’d teach us through cooking, you know? Once you could clean dishes with magic it was like, you were the _master_ of magic.”

“My mom taught me to cook too,” Alexander says. His voice is distant, a bit muffled, but Thomas can make it out in the otherwise silent shop. “Nothing magical about it, just you and your own two hands. My father preferred it that way, not like mom could use magic if she wanted though.”

For a while, that’s how they stay: Thomas sitting outside Alexander’s door, trading stories. Thomas catches himself rocking back and forth, shifting position every once in a while. Not that he’s bored, he likes this. Just _talking_ with Alexander, listening to his voice wrap around Thomas through the door.

Thomas tells him the story of the time James, Lafayette and he had snuck alcohol into Mount Vernon, got wasted and trashed a classroom. They’d only gotten out of it because the classroom had been Professor Von Steuben’s and he let them off the hook when they have him some of the booze. Alexander responds with a story about how his dorm - Laurens and a guy named Hercules Mulligan - filled Burr’s dorm with transfigured frogs while he and Theo had been _together_ and they didn’t get in trouble because Burr didn’t want to bust himself for having a girl in his room.

Thomas is part of the way through a story about his family when the door clicks behind him, and Thomas just manages to keep himself from falling backward as it swings open. He turns, peering into Alexander’s darkened room. He can see where Alexander’s conjured up a bathtub in the center of the room, a few lit candles around him.

Thomas gets to his feet, wincing at the pins and needles in his legs, and makes his way into Alexander’s bedroom. He shuts the door behind him carefully, trying not to make a loud sound. Alexander is lying in a bathtub full of water, still in a tank top and boxers, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Thomas silently sinks to his knees next to the bathtub, waiting. He doesn’t know if Alexander wants him to continue to story or -

“My dad left when I was ten,” Alexander says suddenly. “He was a squib and hated that I had magic. One year for his birthday I tried to be a good son and tried to make like, a little magic show for him. Just some sparks or whatever. I was so proud of myself and I thought he would be too but he just - he just got up and left _that day_.

“Mom didn’t know what to do with me. She meant well, she really did. I wasn’t allowed to be taught magic or given a wand or anything, but she managed to convince the only wizard in town to produce some suppressors for me. She gave them to me and told me never to take them off ever. They’re the only things I have left of her,” Alexander says. Thomas feels a swell of guilt, but Alexander isn’t done.

“One day, when I was twelve, I… I got upset about something. I don’t remember what, but I lost control even with the suppressors. My mom tried to help me, tried to get me to calm down but -” Alexander takes a shuddering breath, voice choking up. “And then she was gone. Just like that. I didn’t mean to hurt her, I swear I didn’t.”

Thomas leans against the side of the bathtub, just listening. “I was on the streets for a bit, I lived on this island in the Caribbean. I was alone until this hurricane came through and the town wizard pulled me from the wreckage. He was a medicine man, helped everyone in town, even if they were mortals. I lived with him until the wizarding war was over. It was him that wrote Washington and got me picked as a non-pureblood student.”

Alexander’s breath hitches. “I killed my mom seven years ago today,” he says.

“It was an accident,” Thomas says.

“I _killed_ -”

“You didn’t know what you were doing,” Thomas cuts in, voice low.

“I lost control!” Alexander exclaims, voice starting to break.

“No one taught you control to begin with,” Thomas insists. “It wasn’t your fault.”

With a ragged gasp, Alexander lets out a sob. Thomas looks up to find the man crying, fighting to stay silent as tears roll down his cheeks. Thomas stands and, without hesitation, slides his hands into the water.

“Come on,” he says, “let's get you out of here.” He gently hooks his hands under Alexander’s arms and pulls him from the tub, picking him up and holding him on his hip like one might hold a toddler. He lets his magic pool in his palms, flooding them both and drying them off slowly. Alexander buries his face into Thomas’ shoulder, shaking slightly as he cries.

“Shhh,” Thomas whispers, “it’s okay. I understand.” Alexander twists one hand in Thomas’ shirt front. The bathtub behind them shimmers out of existence as Thomas carries the distraught man to his bed.

Thomas gently sits down, disentangles Alexander’s hand and sets him down. Now completely dry - save his tears - Alexander squirms, reaching for Thomas. He looks like a little kid, making a grabby motion towards him. Slowly, watching Alexander cautiously, Thomas crawls into bed beside him. Instantly, Alexander clings to Thomas, squirming and pulling until they’re lying down in each other’s arms.

Thomas stiffens even as Alexander presses himself against Thomas’ chest. Cautiously, Thomas wraps his arm around Alexander, the one now trapped under Alexander’s neck reaching up to rest against his head.

“Is -” Thomas swallows around the dryness in his throat - “Is this okay?” Alexander nods, face buried against Thomas’ chest. He’s trying so hard not to make noise even as tears stream down his face. Given permission, Thomas tightens his hold on Alexander, drawing them even closer together.

“It’s okay,” Thomas breathes, “Let it out, it’s okay.” Alexander keens, the sound muffled. Thomas slowly runs his hand through Alexander’s hair, massaging his scalp as Alexander finally lets it all out. It breaks Thomas’ heart to see him like this, to hear the sobs that escape Alexander. But he keeps himself calm, staring at the wall.

At some point, Alexander starts to quiet down. His body relaxes bit by bit until he falls asleep, still pressed against Thomas. Thomas finally lets out a deep breath. Alexander’s got him trapped, not that Thomas minds; he’d love to cuddle with Alexander like this in better situations. As it is, Thomas only regrets that it took _this_ to get Alexander in his arms.

_You need to stop doing this,_ says a little voice. _You’re just going to end up hurting yourself._ Thomas sighs and shuts it out.

_Let me just have this,_ he thinks. He tries to press this moment to memory, to take in how Alexander’s skin feels and the way his breath runs against Thomas’ shirt. He wants to remember this moment, _everything_ about this moment, forever.

\--------------

When Thomas wakes, he’s alone in bed. He blinks, confused, and sits up. Seráfina eyes him from across the room, but there’s no Alexander. He climbs out of bed, Alexander’s side already carefully made, and walks to the door. When he opens it, Alexander is shelving something, his back to Thomas.

“Alexander?” Thomas asks, voice still groggy. Alexander stiffens, then turns his head to look at Thomas.

“Morning,” he says. “You should probably shower before open.” Thomas frowns. Alexander looks put together as if last night had been no different than any other night.

“Are you okay?” Thomas asks. Alexander pauses, then lets out a breath.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m fine.”

“You were pretty -”

“I know, and thank you for what you did,” Alexander says, curtly, “But I’m okay now.” He turns back to the shelf, arranging packets of leaves so they hang neatly. Thomas’ stomach sinks, his heart turning to stone.

_See?_ Says the voice. _I told you last night. You’re just going to get hurt_. Thomas presses his lips together, and takes the long way around to the back, avoiding the aisle Alexander is in. Silently, he pads up the stairs to his apartment, passes a still-sleepy Cooper, and shuts himself in the bathroom.

Thomas manages to keep himself together until the shower water hits his face, and then it’s all over. “Damn it,” he hisses, rubbing his face under the cascade of water. “God fucking damn it.” What had he been expecting? To wake up to Alexander still with him, to wake up like a _couple_?

One hand hits the wall of the shower in frustration. Thomas can’t stop hurting himself, can he? He can’t have Alexander, he knows this, so why entertain thoughts otherwise? At best, Alexander sees him as a friend. At worst: the creepy teacher who used to drink and is far too attached.

Thomas’ heart hurts, a burning ache spreading through his chest. Thomas doesn’t get it: Alexander _kisses_ him and then doesn’t talk to him for days. Alexander wants Thomas to hold him while he cries and then shuts him out. He has half a mind to go down and ask Alexander to stop fucking with him at least.

But if he does that, he won’t get the little tendrils of affection that he so desperately craves now. The desire burns inside him like the flickers of desire for a drink he gets occasionally, except this want for Alexander Hamilton doesn’t fade with time and distraction.

So Thomas stands under the shower until he thinks he’s put together enough to face Alexander. Halfway through touching up his beard in the mirror, he gets a sudden idea. Before returning to the shop front, Thomas slips into his garden, heads to the back and plucks Alexander’s suppressors from the dirt.

The sunburn blossoms look really nice against the dragon’s tongue.

\--------------

Alexander paces in front of the counter, dressed in a blazer and jeans that make Thomas drool. Not that Alexander would know that, he’s too busy nervously adjusting his sleeves and Thomas keeps his face buried in his sales book.

“I mean, it’s normal for the girl to come pick up the guy, right?” Alexander mutters, more to himself than Thomas. Thomas sighs.

“You’re fine,” he says. There’s a churning in his gut and he wishes Eliza would just get here and put Thomas out of his misery. If she would set him on fire too, that would be wonderful. Thomas would love to go down in a literal blaze of glory while Alexander goes off and gets his happy ending.

“What if she doesn’t show?” Alexander asks. “What if I’m stuck looking like a goddamn fool and -”

“What about Eliza Schuyler tells you that she might stand you up?” Thomas asks. Alexander makes an exasperated noise.

“Nothing! But -” he cuts himself off, hands flying in the air. Thomas glances at him, still pacing.

“Alexander, you’re being ridiculous,” he says. Alexander stops pacing to look at him.

“Since when have you called me Alexander?” He asks. Thomas flinches, his hand tightening around a page in his book.

“Did I?” he asks, as disinterestedly as possible.

“Yeah,” Alexander says. Thomas presses his lips together.

“I don’t remember doing it,” he lies. “But if it happened, it won’t happen again.”

Alexander’s eyes narrow. “It didn’t mind it,” he says. Thomas grits his jaw and refuses to look up. Alexander fidgets with the cuff of his jacket, opens his mouth -

The bell rings, making both men jump. Alexander’s head whips around, and Thomas glances up. Eliza Schuyler stands at the door in a simple blue dress, her hair done up on her head. “Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” Alexander responds. Thomas jerks his head in greeting and looks down at the book.

“You ready?” Eliza asks. Alexander nods, then glances back at Thomas.

“Don’t wait up for me, might be late,” he says. Thomas hums.

“I gotta lock the door when you come back, don’t I?” he says. Alexander looks like he might argue, but he just steps away from the counter.

“Bye Thomas,” Alexander calls, and Thomas feels like he’s been hit by a bolt of lightning. His voice fails him long enough that Alexander is gone by the time he can stutter a ‘goodbye’ back. He watches the two walk down the street, Alexander offering Eliza his arm. She takes it, and the disappear from the window.

Thomas tries to focus on his book, but all the inventory and totaling is already done and the numbers just sit there in front of his eyes. Thomas puts his elbows on the counter, puts his face in his hands and lets out a deep breath. He hears the gentle pattering of dragon feet on the counter and a moment later Cooper is in on his shoulders.

**_Cooper burn blue girl_ **

“No Coop,” Thomas says. “You can’t hurt Eliza.”

**_Blue girl make hooman sad_ **

“I’m making myself sad,” Thomas laments. “I need to just let him go.” Thomas stands, looking for something to distract him, all the while Cooper doing his best to convince Thomas to let him throw a fireball at Eliza.

**_Won’t burn other humans_ **

“That’s what you should be doing anyway,” Thomas remarks.

**_Blue girl deserves burn_ **

“She absolutely does not.” Thomas runs his hands along the shelves, eyeing the displays. Everything’s in perfect order, nothing to fix or change.

**_But Cooper want_ **

“We all want things we can’t have,” Thomas says with a sigh. “I should know.” He ends up playing with the loose dirt of the display tanks, just brushing the top of it with gentle fingertips. The gritty texture is wonderful against his skin, calms the swarm of thoughts in his head.

He always liked playing with soil, even as a kid. Even before James fell in love with plants and dragged Thomas along with him to botanicas or made Thomas help him take care of his garden. Thomas had always liked to push his hands into it, feel the gentle pressure around his fingers on all sides. His mother had thought it silly, but as long as Thomas didn’t track dirt in the house, it had been alright. More than once, Thomas had wondered what it would be like to bury his whole body in earth. It sounded like heaven to him, the weight on his body and the rough texture against his skin.

As if he understood, Cooper drapes his body along Thomas’ shoulders, going almost completely limp. Cooper’s weight drags on Thomas’ shoulders, his tail lying against his chest in a comforting way. His head is still resting on the top of Thomas’ head, right along the center of his scalp.

**_Blanket?_** Cooper suggests. Thomas blinks, the thought of being enveloped by something suddenly so appealing. His robes aren’t enough to satisfy the craving, so he pulls his hands out of the tank and walks upstairs. He stops by the bathroom to clean his hands off before heading into his bedroom. Thomas feels along his sheets, but nothing feels like it has the weight to it like he’s craving. It’s normally very warm in his bedroom, so there’s no need for him to have a heavy blanket or a comforter -

_But Alexander does_ , Thomas realizes. He rushes downstairs before he remembers he might not be able to get into Alexander’s bedroom. But when he gets out into the shop front, he sees that Alexander accidentally left his door open. Sending a prayer of thanks, Thomas darts into Alexander’s room just long enough to grab the yellow comforter from his bed and pull it out into the shop.

It’s still pretty lightweight, but better than anything Thomas has. He folds it in half and wraps it around his chest, under his arms and just below where Cooper is resting. Even in half, the blanket is more than big enough to wrap around Thomas and more. When Thomas sits back down on his stool, he feels more secure, more comfortable.

Thomas tries not to think about how it smells of Alexander.

Sitting at the counter, he spots the metal box he’d placed on the shelf by his foot. He had intended to give it to Alexander before he left, but couldn’t work up the courage. It sits there, a glaring reminder that Alexander isn’t Thomas’, no matter how much Thomas wishes he was. He pulls the blanket around him a little tighter.

Alexander isn’t gone two hours before he comes stumbling back into the store. Thomas watches in concerned confusion as he jogs past the window and bursts through the door. Alexander locks eyes with Thomas, opening his mouth before stopping, blinking in confusion.

“Is that my comforter?” He asks after a pause. Thomas shifts on his stool.

“It was cold and your door was open,” he says. “What are you doing back so soon?” Alexander’s face contorts, flashing through a few emotions too quickly to read.

“Eliza cut it short,” he says. Thomas frowns, fighting down the swell of hope in his stomach.

“What happened?” He asks, wondering if that’s too personal for a mentor to ask. Alexander flounders for a moment.

“Um,” he starts, eyes flicking way from Thomas. “She, uh, she said that she thinks I’m… I’m in love with someone else?” He phrases the statement like a question, and Thomas’ eyes narrow.

“Are you?” He asks, his mind casting about to figure out who. Alexander nods, gaze glued on the wall beside Thomas.

“I didn’t think so at first, but then we talked it out and I realized she was right,” Alexander explains. Thomas bites the inside of his lip.

“Laurens is a respectable man, I suppose,” he says stiffly. “You could do worse.” Alexander’s eyes fly to Thomas’ face, blinking in shock before looking away again.

“John’s a friend,” he says. It’s Thomas’ turn to be surprised.

“You just said you -”

“It’s not John!” Alexander snaps, flinches at his own tone, and then takes a breath. “It’s not John,” he repeats, calmer this time. Thomas drums his hand against the counter.

“Well, okay then. I suppose you’re off to go woo this person now?” Thomas asks, hiding the bitterness in his voice. Alexander fidgets, feet shifting in place.

“I would,” Alexander says. “But I don’t know how they feel.”

“You could _ask_ them?” Thomas suggests. Alexander blanches slightly, and Thomas rolls his eyes. “The great Alexander Hamilton afraid to ask a question? Color me shocked.”

“It’s not that simple,” Alexander says. “I don’t think they’d give me a straight answer.”

Thomas lets out an exasperated sigh. Of all the things in the world Thomas wants to be doing, giving Alexander relationship advice is the last thing on the list. “What else are you going to do? Just kiss them and see how they react?”

Alexander shifts on his feet again. “I mean, I already kinda did that and didn’t get an answer.” He looks down at the floor now, fingers picking at his jacket sleeves. Thomas’ brow furrows. _What kind of asshole doesn’t react to a kiss -_

_Oh._

_No, not possible_.

_...unless..._

“Maybe they weren’t expecting it?” Thomas suggests tentatively, feeling like he has to force the words out to speak. “Maybe if you did it a second time you’d get a better reaction.” Thomas like he’s standing on a crumbling floor, and each word he speaks breaks off a little more until he’s standing on the smallest patch. He’s waiting for Alexander to knock out that last bit and send him tumbling into the abyss.

He holds his breath as Alexander slowly picks his eyes up from the floor. For the first time since he came in the door, Alexander looks directly at him. Thomas feels like he’s watching a dream as Alexander climbs over the counter, turns and - after a pause that feels like it stretches for years - comes in close.

Alexander’s lips ghost across Thomas’ and Thomas can’t restrain himself. Not anymore. He grabs onto Alexander’s face, leans down, and kisses him hard. Alexander stands with his legs on either side of Thomas’ and his hands come up to hold Thomas by the waist. Thomas’ mind goes blank as he kisses Alexander, and kisses him, and kisses him.

And Alexander kisses back, fingers digging into Thomas’ sides even through the comforter. Cool, joyous relief floods Thomas’ veins, sparks erupting in his stomach. They break for a moment to gasp in air and then reconnect their lips. Alexander is leaning into him so hard, Thomas would have to fight to stay on his stool if he wasn’t pushing back just as hard.

It’s not clean, it’s not perfect, but what they lack in beauty they make up for in passion. They kiss, and it’s downright sloppy at times but Thomas doesn’t care. Alexander is alive under his hands and reactive to his touch. Thomas slides his hands into Alexander’s hair, holding him impossibly closer.

At some point - after a millennia packed into a second - they finally have to pull away. They’re breathing hard, Thomas’ lungs burning for air, and when he cracks his eyes open he finds Alexander staring up at him with kiss-swollen lips. He’s got a dopey grin on his face, and Thomas is matching it.

“You do remember I kissed you first, right?” Thomas asks, breathless. Alexander snorts, squeezing Thomas’ sides gently.

“You apologized for that,” Alexander reminds him. Thomas crinkles his nose.

“I thought you hated me for it.”

Alexander leans in again. “Never,” he says, before planting a short kiss on Thomas’ nose. Thomas giggle, both at the innocence of the gesture and the feeling of Alexander’s goatee on his face.

Cooper chirps, and Thomas looks for him, suddenly realizing that he’s not on his shoulders anymore. He finds him on the counter, wiggling in place. He hops on Thomas’ shoulder and almost knocks him over with how hard the dragon runs into his head.

**_Mate now?!_ **

Thomas laughs, and Alexander looks at him curiously. Thomas shakes his head. “Cooper has had this idea in his head that we’re ‘mates’ basically since we got him.” Alexander blinks, and Thomas looks up at him. “He’s asking me if we’re together.”

Alexander’s expression turns a bit guarded, his smile slipping. “Well, I mean, what are we?” He asks. Thomas stops, thinking.

“What do you want to be?” He asks in response. Alexander pauses, and there’s a beat of silence before:

“I’d like to be together,” he says. “I mean in a romantic sense.”

“I would too,” Thomas admits, but something about Alexander’s phrasing puts him on edge.

“But I’m still technically your apprentice. Not exactly the most _morally sound_ pairing,” Alexander finishes. Thomas pauses, lips pressed together. _There is that_ , Thomas thinks, but before he can even fully form the thought, Alexander’s hands squeeze his sides again and his face turns defiant.

“Actually, fuck it,” Alexander says. “I don’t give a shit if you don’t.”

Relief floods Thomas again, this time lighting him up from the inside. Before he can fully consider what he’s jumping into, he says: “I do not.”

Alexander smiles. “Then it’s agreed.” Thomas nods.

“Yep.” Thomas leans in for another kiss, only to have Cooper nudge him on the temple again.

**_Mate now or no?_ **

“Yes, Cooper,” he sighs. “We’re going to try it.” He smiles at Alexander as Cooper chirps, clicks, jumps on top of Thomas’ head and dances in place. Alexander laughs, and Thomas can’t help but think it’s the prettiest sound in the world.


	16. Chapter 16

Thomas doesn’t want to say goodnight, not after hours of perching themselves on the counter, lights off, leaning into each other's sides and stealing little kisses. Part of him thinks it’s a dream, that if he goes to bed he’ll wake up and this never happened. Or worse, Alexander pulls away again and leaves Thomas even more confused and hurt again.

But the clock is nearing midnight and tomorrow is a business day, so Thomas reluctantly presses a short kiss to Alexander’s temple and tells him they have to go to bed. Alexander frowns, which then turns into a pout and Thomas prepares himself to have to resist -

“At least put my comforter back first?” Alexander asks. “You’re the one who dragged it out here.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, but doesn’t fight as Alexander takes his hand and leads him back into his bedroom. Cooper follows behind, still making little clicking sounds. The dragon is so damn proud of himself, but Thomas isn’t paying attention to Cooper.

Alexander pulls Thomas to his bedside, and Thomas reluctantly unwraps the comforter from his body. He throws it back on the mattress and straightens it, feeling Alexander's eyes on him.

"Alright, happy?" He asks, turning around. Alexander has a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"I'd be happier if you stayed," he says. "Besides, you're already here and it's a waste of energy to climb up the stairs."

Thomas rolls his eyes, walking towards the other man. Alexander looks at him smugly until Thomas lunges, wrapping his arms around Alexander's waist and lifting him up. Alexander squeaks in shock as Thomas easily carries him over to the bed, legs kicking uselessly in the air. Thomas tosses Alexander onto the bed, making it bounce slightly, then throws himself on top of him. Alexander grunts, but grins up at him until Thomas catches him in a kiss.

After a moment of that, Alexander taps Thomas on the shoulder. "I appreciate this," he says, voice a bit strained "but you're kind of crushing me." Thomas chuckles, but obediently rolls off and onto his side.

Alexander doesn't have a second pillow until - with a flick of his fingers - he does and Thomas settles into it. For a moment, they just look at each other and Thomas marvels at the man lying beside him.

"What are you thinking about?" Thomas asks. Alexander shrugs.

"How big your arms are." Thomas snorts. "I mean it!" Alexander protests. "They're like the size of my head." Alexander lifts a hand and pokes Thomas in the upper arm almost reverently.

"Are you serious?" Thomas asks, laughter in his voice. Alexander nods, jamming his finger up and down Thomas' bicep.

"I mean, holy shit?" He says, fingers traveling up Thomas' arm to his chest. "I've never seen you with your shirt off but goddamn."

"Why thank you," Thomas chuckles. Alexander's eyes grow wider as he feels along Thomas chest and stomach over his shirt.

"You lived off booze for six years, how are you this fit?" He asks.

"I also operated a self-producing botanica on my own for those six years," Thomas says. Alexander shakes his head, dumbfounded.

"I think about eating and I gain weight!" He says. "I'd kill to look like you." Thomas frowns.

"Alexander, you're gorgeous," he says. Alexander blinks, looking up at him incredulously. "I mean it." Thomas gently grabs Alexander's leg, drapes it over his own and runs his fingers in little circles across Alexander's thigh.

"You're handsome," he says, punctuating it with a kiss. "Beautiful -" another kiss - “sexy -” a kiss - “perfect.” Thomas plants one last kiss and holds it a bit this time, still marveling in the way Alexander is just letting him do this. When he pulls back, Alexander’s face is bright red, and Thomas smiles.

“Remember that time Coop got into the marine biome and you went in to go get him out?” Thomas asks, and Alexander nods. “I was totally checking you out when you climbed out of the tank.”  
Alexander’s face turns a brighter shade of red, his nose scrunching up. “The first time you shaved and wore your glasses, I couldn’t stop staring.” It’s Thomas’ turn to feel his face heat up, and Alexander smiles. “Two can play at that game,” he teases.

“That blazer of yours makes you look absolutely delicious,” Thomas says.

“I like you without your robes so I can see your arms,” Alexander replies.

“Oh yeah?” Thomas says. “You ought to wear tank-tops more often for that same reason.”

And so they go, trading compliments until their words turn slurred with sleep, and Thomas succumbs to it halfway through hearing something about how brilliant he is.

\--------------

Thomas wakes, and for the first time, Alexander is still with him. At some point during the night, the smaller man had tucked himself into Thomas’ chest. He’s still asleep, and Thomas lets himself marvel at him just for a moment. He’s so peaceful asleep, and Thomas wouldn’t mind waking up to this every day for the rest of his life.

Eventually, Thomas does move to get up and when he does, he finds Cooper draped across their feet, lazily cracking one eye open at him. Thomas smiles at him, and Cooper just chips smugly. He rolls his eyes, tugging his feet out from under Cooper’s chest. Cooper huffs as Thomas stands, padding over to Alexander’s kitchen.

His stomach growls, and he’s sure Alexander will be hungry when he wakes up too. As quietly as possible, Thomas pulls out everything he needs to make pancakes. He makes the mix by memory, a childhood recipe he still remembers and turns on the stove. Just as he’s pouring little dollops of mix into the skillet, something thumps against his back.

Two little arms snake around his waist, pulling a familiar yellow comforter along with them. Thomas chuckles. “Good morning darling,” he says.

“Why are you up?” Alexander whines. “Come back to bed.”

“Aw, little baby sleepy?” Thomas teases. Alexander just groans back, leaning almost completely on Thomas. “We have to open the shop today,” Thomas says, watching the half-cooked pancakes sizzle.

“Whyyyyuh,” Alexander mutters. Thomas flips the smaller pancake.

“Because that’s what you do when you run a shop.”

“We could take today off?” Alexander offers. “Just lay in bed, you and me?”

“As tempting as that is,” Thomas says, “I have a business to keep afloat. How many pancakes would you like?”

“Seven,” Alexander grumbles after a pause.

“Seven?” Thomas asks. Alexander nods against Thomas’ back, and Thomas chuckles. “Why don’t we start with three and I can make more if you still want seven.”

Alexander ends up eating five, doing it one-handed because he insists on holding Thomas’ hand over the table as they eat breakfast. They chat about nothing, Thomas getting lost in the sound of Alexander’s voice.

It takes them longer than usual to open the shop, Alexander keeps calling for ‘help’ on his chores that mostly just devolve into ways for Thomas to touch him in some manner - holding his hand to ‘show’ him how to clip leaves for example. And, for as much as Thomas teasingly complains, he does it every single time.

Once customers start coming into the store, Thomas manages to keep his composure. Well, to a certain extent. Alexander seemly has decided that he’s going to make Thomas pay for opening the store today. At least, that’s the only explanation Thomas can think up for the way Alexander sways his hips when he walks or the looks he keeps shoot Thomas from behind customer's backs.

If, when Thomas calls Alexander into the back under a pretext of some chore, Thomas pins Alexander against the wall and kisses him senseless in revenge, no one has to know.

When the shop closes it’s a relief. Thomas can feel Alexander’s eyes on his while he locks the door and flips the sign, and the moment Thomas turns around Alexander is on him. Thomas lets him have a kiss before pulling back.

“We still have inventory to do,” he reminds Alexander. Alexander’s pouty expression is enough of a protest to almost make Thomas break, but he manages to keep it together. “Come on, I have something for you when we’re done.” Alexander’s eyes light up.

“You got it,” he says, steals one last kiss, and then scampers off to count the back. Thomas smiles, shaking his head. He counts the front, does his totaling, and when Alexander emerges with a sheet of paper with the stock counts from the back, Thomas makes short work of adding it in. The look Alexander is giving him is almost enough to make him launch himself across at him.

But he finishes his math and puts the book away slowly - using the motion as cover to shove the box under the counter into his robe. When he sits back up, Alexander is almost dancing in place.

“Alright, it’s all done,” Alexander says. “What is it? Is it a kiss? I’m okay with it being a kiss -” Thomas rolls his eyes and does exactly that, giving Alexander a short kiss just to shut him up.”

“You ask too many questions,” Thomas says against Alexander’s lips. “And no, it’s not.”

“I got one anyway,” Alexander points out. Thomas chuckles, leaning away.

“I suppose. Come on,” he says, standing from the stool. He grabs Alexander’s outstretched hand and leads him into the hallway. He stands them both just to the left of his apartment door and points at the portrait hanging there. “See the painting of a garden?” He asks.

Alexander blinks, then startles. “That wasn’t there before.”

“You can’t see it until I tell you about it,” Thomas explains. “Concealment charm. Touch the frame.”

Alexander shoots him a look, then reaches out. He’s almost too short, but he just manages to plant his fingers on the wooden frame. Instantly, the door to Thomas’ garden shimmers into view, and Alexander gasps. “That’s where it is,” he breathes. Thomas nods, a smile on his face.

“Come on,” he says again, pushing open the door with his free hand. He pulls Alexander into his garden, eyes trained on the other man’s face. Thomas can see the moment Alexander realizes what this is by the look on his face.

“You have a straight up secret garden,” Alexander says. “Like the book.” He must see Thomas’ confused look because he explains: “There was this book my mom loved, she used to read it to me as a kid. It was literally called _The Secret Garden_. It was about this girl who’s parents died and she got sent to live with this grumpy old guy in a castle and he had built this garden for his dead wife or something. I don’t remember the details.” Alexander looks around the path. “This is like a goddamned storybook.”

Thomas smiles, and just silently leads him along. Alexander marvels at what lines the path, holding onto Thomas’ hand tightly. Thomas swings it between them gently, just watching Alexander’s face as he takes it all in.

And when they hit the fork in the road, Alexander stops dead in his tracks. He looks up at the explosion of flora in front of him, white and silver flowers and plants stretching up before him. The entire ensemble almost shines like freshly fallen snow, but the fairy’s breath and silverroot trees glitter gently. The awe stretches across Alexander’s face, and Thomas squeezes his hand to make sure he’s listening when he says:

“James.”

Alexander tears his eyes away from the center lot to look up at Thomas. “His magic was pure white,” Thomas explains, his own eyes traveling to the garden lot in front of them. “And he loved trees. They were his favorite things, something about how they outlast human lives by centuries sometimes.” Alexander is silent and Thomas gives him a wry smile. “Really like your storybook, huh?”

Thomas points down the left path. “That’s Washington. The man he was and the man I saw him become in war.” He sighs. “Best not talk about that one much. It’s not very pretty in the middle, but then on the other side it flowers again, so maybe it’s not too bad.”

“Over here,” Thomas pulls Alexander down the right path. “Lafayette. French plants on American soil.” Alexander looks over the lot as they pass, taking in the pattern Thomas has so carefully cultivated. Thomas moves slow enough to make sure Alexander gets as much of a look as he wants, and when the hit the corner, Alexander is still staring at Lafayette’s plot.

“Alex,” he mutters, tugging on his hand. Alexander turns.

“What -” he stops. Thomas doesn’t need to tell Alexander what this last lot is, the look on Alexander’s face tells him that Alexander already knows.

It’s Alexander’s plot.

Sunburn blossoms in full bloom intertwine with dragon’s tongue plants, the green and sunset colors complimenting each other around the outer rim of the lot. The dragon’s tongue continues up, the ground built in a slight slope, and fisherman’s vines run along the floor and up the back wall. The vines take over the forest green theme as little hints of blue start to emerge between each thick rope.

By the time the soil ends and the wall begins, the hints of blue have turned into full flowers, deep blue fortune flowers sticking up through the vines in clumps. Their bunches of flowers sprout between the vines, creating blue and purple bouquets. Up the wall, fisherman’s nets extend from the vines, held out at a perfectly perpendicular angle that Thomas has charmed to stay still and carefully hold up small flower boxes. From them sprout even more sunburn blossoms, dragon’s tongue, and fortune flowers, creating a feel like they’re growing from the wall and cascading down the vines.

“Oh my god,” Alexander breathes, eyes wide. He runs down the path to stand center to the plot, eyes darting around to take in everything. Thomas follows, coming to stand just behind him. “Thomas, I…” Alexander trails. Thomas smiles, pulling the box from inside his robes.

“I’m not done yet,” he says, and Alexander slowly turns to face him. Thomas holds the simple metal box in his hands, glancing down at it and back up at Alexander. “For you,” he says. “I meant to give them to you yesterday, but I kind of got distracted.”

Alexander reaches out, taking the box from Thomas’ hands slowly, and Thomas swallows the sudden apprehension in his chest. Alexander unlatches the box and opens the lid. He gasps, tears suddenly welling in his eyes.

“I had them modified, I hope you don’t mind,” Thomas says. Alexander glances up, questions painted clearly across his face. “They’re deactivated. You can wear them and they won’t hurt you. I mean, they won’t suppress anything either, but that’s not really a problem anymore, so they’re more for decoration I guess?” Thomas can tell he’s rambling, but Alexander is looking at him with wet eyes and Thomas’ mouth works without command. “There’s a smith in town with enchanting experience and he said he just changed one of the runes slightly but other than that, they’re the exact same, so… surprise?” Thomas finishes weakly.

“Thomas,” Alexander breathes. “Shut up and kiss me.”

Thomas does, the box tumbling from Alexander’s hands. Thomas can feel where one hand is still holding the suppressors, even as Alexander curls his other hand in Thomas’ shirt.

\--------------

They lie in bed that night, Alexander using Thomas as a pillow, and Thomas can’t believe his luck. He runs his hand against Alexander’s sleeping shirt absentmindedly. He still doesn’t like the sight of the metal braces against Alexander’s skin, but the other man had cried from joy when he put them back on.

Alexander had promised that he wasn’t going to wear them all the time, but he was so grateful to have his last reminder of his mom back that he wasn’t going to let them out of his sight for a while.

Cooper lies in the part of Thomas’ stomach not taken up by Alexander, sleeping peacefully, paws twitching in a dream. Thomas lets out a breath. He’s here, surrounded by his family. It’s odd, describing a group of beings that have only been together for a little over a month, but it’s his family.

**_Forgetting someone?_ **

Thomas picks his head up to find Seráfina glaring at him from across the darkened room. She’s perched on the foot of Alexander’s bed, golden eyes glimmering even in the low light.

“Would you like to join us?” He asks the phoenix quietly. Seráfina lets out something that sounds like a scoff.

**_I’m good, thank you. Human skin oil ruins my feathers._ **

“Suit yourself,” Thomas says. Seráfina’s eyes narrow as he rests his head against Alexander’s.

**_I think you are forgetting something, Thomas Jefferson_**.

“And what would that be?”

**_Alexander is just a boy._** Seráfina’s wings rustle. **_I mean, you are also but a child in the grand scheme of things, but he is a boy._**

“He is a very smart man,” Thomas says, suddenly defensive.

**_He is intelligent, I will grant you that. But smart?_** Seráfina clicks her beak. **_Forgive me if I do not think getting involved in you is a smart thing to do._**

Thomas picks his head up slowly to look Seráfina in the eye. A shiver of fear settles in his spine at her cool gaze, but he speaks anyway. “What is it to you?”

**_Alexander is my companion. And while humans often baffle me, I would hate to see him get hurt_.**

“Do you think I’m going to hurt him?” Thomas challenges.

**_Yes._ **

Thomas blinks at Seráfina’s blunt answer. She sighs.

**_I do not think you intend to, but I do believe you will hurt him. I have seen a great many human fall in ‘love,’ and ones who do so as quickly as the two of you end up hurting one another. Without fail._ **

“This is different,” Thomas says. Seráfina blinks slowly.

**_That is what they all say, Jefferson._ ** With that, she turns, unfolds her wings and pushes off the bed. In two lazy strokes, she lands on the perch Alexander has constructed for her by the window. **_Sleep now. Humans require eight hours of rest, and at my present count, you are only going to get six._**

Thomas narrows his eyes at her, but she simply tucks her head under her wing. Though her face is concealed, Thomas wouldn’t be surprised if she was still watching him. So he lays his head back on the pillow. _What does she know?_ He thinks. _She’s just a bird._

**_Phoenix, Jefferson. I am a phoenix_.**

Thomas scowls at the ceiling, and a tinkling laughter fills his head.

\--------------

The next morning, Alexander kisses him awake before leading him to the kitchen table where he’s repaid Thomas’ culinary labor from yesterday. Thomas eats, fully aware of Seráfina’s eyes on him from her perch, but focuses on Alexander. _His_ Alexander. God, how did he manage to get him?

Alexander doesn’t let up on yesterday’s teasing, even as he gets odd looks from customers. The ones that glance at Thomas knowingly make him want to escape into the back room. So he does, shutting himself inside the greenhouse. He glances around for something to do, eyes settling on the rainforest biome. It’s a chore to weed in there, considering how hot and humid it is, so Thomas can see where some of the tanks are starting to sprout undesirables.

So he heads inside with a basket and a hand spade, not caring to put on any gloves. He doesn’t need them, none of what he’s working with for the moment is toxic to the touch. Thomas picks a tank in desperate need of work and gets to it. He digs into the hard, thin soil and pulls out the first offending sprout.

It doesn’t take long for him to work up a sweat, the air feels sticky around him and Thomas realizes he’s going to have to take a second shower before bed tonight. He buffs his shirt against his chest, creating a small breeze, but it doesn’t help. So, he does the next logical thing and takes it off, mopping up some of his sweat with it before tossing it in the corner.

He gets through a couple more sprouts before taking a step back from it and trying to decide if he gets water now, or when he’s done with the current tank. He just happens to glance up to find Alexander just outside the glass, gawking. When he notices that Thomas has spotted him, Alexander’s face turns red, but he doesn’t look away.

Thomas glances down, following Alexander’s line of sight, and realizes for the first time exactly what Alexander is getting an eyeful of. He looks back up with a smirk on his face and Alexander turns a brighter shade of red. He spins on one heel, speed walking out of the greenhouse as Thomas breaks out into laughter.

_Don’t play the game if you’re not prepared to lose_ , he thinks. He waits for a beat, gets a bottle of water, and then loiters in the hallway until an unprepared Alexander comes back. Thomas winks, and Alexander takes a steadying breath.

“You are _lucky_ there are people in the shop right now,” Alexander hisses, pushing past Thomas to the alchemy lab. Thomas chuckles and then goes back to the rainforest biome to finish the weeding.

Just as he finishes up, there’s a knock on the glass and he looks up to find Alexander standing there. “Take a shower and get a shirt,” Alexander says when Thomas opens the door. “We’re going out.”

Thomas’ eyebrows fly to the top of his head. “Oh we are, are we?” He asks. Alexander nods.

“I’m going to lock up the shop and sweep. You better be ready to go by the time I’m done.” Alexander turns on a dime, and out of the greenhouse before Thomas can say anything. Thomas looks at the door, now shut behind Alexander, and nods to himself. He picks up his shirt, jogs up the stairs and jumps in the shower.

When Thomas comes back down, he’s clean and changed, his hair styled. Alexander is just putting the broom back when Thomas enters the front. “Perfect timing,” he says, then looks up. Thomas can see something in Alexander’s eye flicker, and he smiles.

“Where are we going, hm?” He asks. Alexander starts as if jolted out of a thought.

“Surprise,” Alexander says. Thomas cocks an eyebrow as he disappears into his bedroom for a moment to return with a basket. “Grab Coop, I’ve got Será.” Thomas obligingly picks up Cooper and drapes him around his shoulders. Alexander, Seráfina perched on his shoulder, grabs onto Thomas' arm with the hand not holding the basket.

There’s a tremendous amount of pressure on Thomas’ body, and then with a _pop_ , he’s standing on a grassy hill. He looks around, but can’t tell where Alexander’s apparated them to. Nothing’s familiar about the shade of trees and the lake stretching out before Thomas.

“South Carolina,” Alexander says, by way of explanation. “Somewhere just south of the  Laurens family property. Don’t worry, we’re not trespassing anywhere.” Alexander, still holding onto Thomas’ wrist, leads him down the hill and towards the lake shore. About halfway down the hill, where the trees suddenly thin, Alexander turns to him with a wry smile.

“Now we’re trespassing, but the detection charms don’t start until the _other_ side of the lake,” he says.

“When you said ‘just south’ you really meant ‘just south,’” Thomas drawls. Alexander laughs, and then they’re at the edge of the water. Alexander drops the basket on the ground, and Seráfina jumps off his shoulder so he can maneuver better. She finds a low perch on a nearby tree, watching Alexander as he opens the basket and pulls out a blanket.

“A picnic?” Thomas asks. “This is your grand outing?”

Alexander shoots him a look. “Listen, it’s not like I had all that much time to think something up to match you and your goddamn secret garden. And this is a nice lake, and I’ve been working on this goddamn dinner for -”

Thomas cuts him off with a short kiss. “I love it,” he says, and Alexander smiles.

“Asshole,” he says, but fondly. With help from Thomas, he stretches out the blanket on the grass. Cooper jumps down from Thomas’ shoulders as Alexander pulls out more food than should reasonably fit inside that basket. He pulls out a couple of bottles that look suspiciously like champagne bottles.

Thomas looks at them, confused, until Alexander notices. “Sparkling cider,” Alexander explains, and Thomas relaxes.

“Scared me for a second,” Thomas teases. “Thought you were about to drink in front of me just to torture me.” Alexander rolls his eyes and frisbees a sandwich -thankfully wrapped up in a napkin - into Thomas’ stomach. Thomas laughs, kisses Alexander on the cheek, and unwraps his food.

Cooper chirps beside him, eyeing Thomas’ food until Alexander pulls out a bowl of fruit. He puts in on the blanket in front of Cooper, and Cooper doesn’t need to be told twice. Seráfina watches from the tree, content to pluck leaves from the branch she’s on.

Thomas and Alexander talk about nothings, laughing over stupid jokes. Thomas has never been one for small talk, but Alexander makes it easy. Thomas feels more at ease in conversation than he has in years.

“You’re the easiest person to talk to since James,” Thomas remarks during a lull in the conversation. Alexander smiles, though not quite as wide as usual. Thomas takes a bite of his second sandwich, chewing slowly as he eyes Alexander’s expression. He swallows, goes to say something -

“Ow!” Alexander hisses, jerking his hand in the air and looking down. Cooper looks up at him, tail resting in the now-empty fruit bowl. He chirps, then wanders off the blanket. “Where you going, you little shit?” Alexander asks, getting up to follow the dragon. The moment Cooper sees Alexander trailing him, he breaks out into a run.

Alexander lets out a noise of frustration, then picks up his own pace. Thomas watches him chase Cooper along the lakefront, calling out for him and shouting expletives each time Cooper manages to evade him. Thomas laughs as Cooper skitters along the tideline, breaking out ins guffaws as Alexander slips and lands, face-first in the water.

“You _fucking..._ ” Alexander growls, getting to his feet, his front covered in mud and silt. Throwing dignity to the wind, he dives after the dragon, just managing to grab a hold of his tail. Cooper thrashes, but Alexander pulls him in, and they end up wrestling on the beach front.

And Thomas just watches, completely content with his lot in life for the first time in what seems like forever.

Eventually, Alexander comes out victorious, holding the wriggling dragon above his head like a prizefighter holding his champion belt. He marches over to the blanket, drops Cooper on Thomas’ lap, and sits with a huff.

“Chase your own damn dragon next time,” he says. Thomas laughs, scratching Cooper behind the ears. The sun is low in the sky, still awhile from setting but reflecting on the water beautifully. As Alexander runs his hands through the air to clean off the mud, Thomas gets an idea.

With a wave of his hand, Thomas conjures an old record player on the blanket beside him. He puts the needle on the record, and a soft jazz sound starts up. Alexander looks up, startled by the sudden music. Thomas stands - Cooper jumping off onto the blanket - and holds out his hand.

“Dance?” He asks. Alexander eyes his outstretched palm, then takes it, allowing Thomas to help him stand. Thomas puts his hand on Alexander’s waist, holding the other one lightly in his hand. He frowns, feeling Alexander stiff under his hands. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ve just never danced like this before,” he says. Thomas smiles, moves the hand on his waist to grab Alexander’s free hand to put it on his own shoulder.

“Keep that there,” he instructs. “And just sway. Follow me.” Alexander nods, and it’s not long until his body finds Thomas’ simple rhythm. Thomas isn’t shocked, the man obviously has control over his body, and he starts leading Alexander in a simple turning step.

Alexander keeps up, letting Thomas lead willingly. Thomas can tell when he’s relaxed when Alexander rests his head on Thomas’ chest. The soft music swells around them, and Thomas moves them to the beat.

Over Alexander’s head Thomas can see Seráfina, still on her branch, and Cooper curled under Seráfina’s tree. From the way Cooper is chirping and how they make small movements in turns that the two animals are having a conversation, but about what Thomas doesn’t know. Thomas just shuts his eyes and rests his cheek against Alexander’s head.

“This is nice,” Thomas says. Alexander hums in agreement. They sway and turn, just feeling each other's bodies against one another. Thomas smiles into Alexander’s hair. He’s so happy he feels like he could burst.

This is a life Thomas could get used to. Alexander, _his_ , small dates after work and their two animal children. Well, _one_ , Seráfina isn’t exactly a child, but the principal stands. Once again, Thomas is struck with the sense that _this is his family_. He hasn’t had that feeling since he was with James and Lafayette in school.

“What are you thinking about?” Alexander asks.

“How quickly everything’s changed in a couple of months,” Thomas replies.

“Is that good?”

“It’s fantastic.”

\--------------

The setting of the sun makes them return to Virginia, reluctantly, with a promise to return. They throw the basket in the corner of the shop, and collectively decide just to ignore inventory for the night. Alexander perches himself on the edge of his bed while Thomas throws his robe on one of Alexander’s kitchen chairs.

“I’m not sleepy,” Alexander complains. Thomas rolls his eyes, throwing himself onto the bed beside the other man.

“ _Do_ you want to count inventory?” Thomas offers. “I don’t mind if you do -”

“ _Noooo,_ ” Alexander whines, flopping against Thomas’ side. Thomas sighs, good-naturedly, rubbing his hand against Alexander’s shoulder.

“Well then, what do you want to do?” he asks. Alexander purses his lips, thinking, then turns to look up at Thomas.

“Kiss me?” he asks. Thomas smiles and complies.

“Now what?” He asks, pulling away.

“Again,” Alexander says, this time more of a command. Thomas chuckles and leans in again. This time, when he goes to break away, Alexander loops an arm around his neck and keeps him still.

Thomas’s hand finds Alexander’s hip, the other one planted on the bed to hold himself up. They kiss, and Thomas loses himself in the familiarity. Their lips fit against each other so nicely, and Thomas is starting to get used to the feeling

And then it deepens. Thomas finds himself pressing his tongue against Alexander’s lips, asking for entrance. Alexander grants it. Thomas languidly explores Alexander’s mouth, growing more heated the more Alexander presses into him.

And then Alexander swings a leg over Thomas’ lap the same moment Thomas’ hand decides to go exploring up Alexander’s shirt. Alexander’s movement stutter, but then he’s back at it stronger than ever. His tongue clashes against Thomas’, and a spark flies in Thomas’ lower gut.

He pulls Alexander up so that the other man is completely straddling him, and sits up so his other hand is free to join the one currently exploring the curves of Alexander’s stomach. If this is going where Thomas thinks it’s going to go, Thomas is completely okay with it.

Thomas rolls his hips up into Alexander experimentally and gets a groan in return. Alexander pushes his hips down, and that’s all Thomas needs. _If Alexander’s not stopping_ , Thomas thinks, _why should I?_

Thomas taps Alexander on the side as a warning and then pushes him down into the mattress.

\--------------

Afterward, Thomas lays on Alexander, one arm thrown around his bare waist and using the other man’s chest as a pillow. Alexander’s arm is thrown around his shoulders, holding Thomas close. Thomas hears Alexander’s heartbeat, low and steady. He hums to himself, nuzzling Alexander’s chest.

“That was wonderful,” Thomas says, throat dry. Alexander hums and Thomas can feel it rumble in his chest.

“You know,” Alexander says, “that was…”

“Hm?” Thomas asks when Alexander doesn’t continue.

“I’ve never…”

“Oh,” Thomas says and turns his head up to look at his Alexander. “Well, color me impressed.” Thomas chuckles at Alexander’s blush, plants a kiss on his nose. He puts his head back down into its original position.

“I love you,” Thomas breathes. He feels Alexander’s breath hitch, his arm stiffen, but the next moment, Thomas is asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

Thomas wakes up alone. The other side of the bed is cold as if Alexander was never there. Which is ridiculous, considering the memories flooding Thomas’ head. He’s lying on his stomach, and he pushes himself up to turn around.

Alexander’s room is in complete disarray. Drawers are thrown open, contents spilling everywhere. Dirty laundry is strewn about - Thomas’ own clothing shoved into a corner - and the kitchen counter is covered in random junk pulled from cabinets and drawers that hadn’t been put back. The bookshelves by the bed are half-empty, the remaining volumes falling over or on the floor.

Seráfina’s perch is empty, the lights are off, and only the sun from the window illuminates the mess.

“Alexander?” Thomas calls, crawling out of bed. “Are you okay?” He throws on his clothes, fear bubbling in his gut. _Had they been robbed? And where was Alexander?_ The studio apartment doesn’t leave many places for Alexander to hide, but still, Thomas checks every corner.

When he goes for the door to the shop, he prepares to see a vandalized, robbed store-front. But he opens the door to the pristine store he had left it last night. “Alexander?” he calls, listening for a response. He gets nothing until the patter of claws on tile alerts him to Cooper’s presence. The dragon whines, pawing at his leg.

“Where’s Alexander?” Thomas asks, reaching down for him. Cooper wriggles in his hands until Thomas holds him close enough to connect his snout with his head. Thomas’ head instantly fills with a still of the shop at night from Cooper’s bed on the counter.

Alexander is digging through the shelves under the counter until he finds the small metal box Thomas had given the suppressors back in, then stands back. Seráfina jumps from the counter to Alexander’s shoulder.

Cooper whines as Alexander picks up a bag from the floor, throwing the box inside. Alexander looks down at him, face mostly obscured by shadows, but Thomas can still see the frown on his face. Alexander reaches out, scratching Cooper behind the ears.

“Sorry boy,” Alexander whispers. “Take care of him, okay?”

Cooper barks, but Alexander is pulling his hand away. And then there’s a deafening _crack_ and Alexander is gone.

Thomas’ breath hitches, his grip on Cooper slacking but the dragon jumps to his shoulders. “That’s not it, right Coop?” Thomas asks, voice small. “You’re going to show me when he came back, aren’t you? _That’s what you’re going to show me_.”

Cooper just whines, circling Thomas’ shoulders and lying down so his head rests on Thomas’ shoulder. _No_ , Thomas can’t believe it. Alexander _has_ to be here somewhere. Thomas tears through the shop, calling Alexander’s name over and over again. He even goes through the garden and his own apartment, coming up empty.

By the time Thomas makes it back to Alexander’s room, he’s crying. He feels like he’s being choked from the inside. Alexander is gone. He’s not here. He left. Thomas can’t breathe, his whole body shakes.

Alexander left him.

Thomas stares at the expanse of Alexander’s room, half his mind still holding out in denial. Thomas can’t speak, can’t make a noise. Alexander is gone, and the only thought in his mind is _why?_

Thomas stumbles his way over to Alexander’s bed, sees how the sheets are still tangled where neither of them made the bed. He slowly crawls back into his usual place, the left side empty. Cooper crawls off his body and stands in Alexander’s spot, staring down at Thomas with worry in his eyes.

Did he do something wrong? Thomas can’t fathom what, if anything. Alexander had been so happy, hadn’t he?

_See, what did I tell you?_ The voice in Thomas’ head says. _He left you. He left you because no one could love you, you miserable being. You’re not even human you’re so wretched. How could you_ ever _think someone like Alexander would stay?_

_He… he said he was in love with me,_ Thomas protests. The voice scoffs.

_Sure, he_ said _that. Are you really that stupid? He just said that to get into your pants. Probably just pitied you. The sad, miserable drunk. He said that too, remember? Called you the sad miserable drunk you are. Probably thought you were_ easy _. So sad, so pathetic, willing to give it up to the first person who showed you a measure of kindness_.

Thomas clutches the sheets, pulls them up as far as they’ll go. Maybe if he tries hard enough, the bed will swallow him whole and put him out of this agony.

_Not that you deserve kindness, you worthless creature. This, right here, is what you deserve. Left behind, heartbroken. He’s probably off to be with Eliza or John or anyone else. Anyone else would be better than you_.

Thomas feels the tears roll down his cheeks.

_Stop that. You don’t deserve to cry_.

Thomas stops crying, somehow managing to hold back the tears. The voice is right. The voice has always been right.

_You deserve to rot_.

Rot Thomas does.

\--------------

Thomas is nothing. He is empty, numb, nothing. He doesn’t think, doesn’t process anything happening around him.

Cooper whines, pawing at Thomas’ face, licking him on the nose, trying to shout directly into his head, and nothing gets through. Thomas loses track of the progression of time, the movement of the sun means nothing when the world means nothing; when _everything_ means nothing.

Thomas rots, waiting until his body gives up so it can rot too.

He doesn’t process the loud _crack_ that reverberates through the room seemingly a million years after Thomas became nothing. It’s like sound just bounces off him, he _hears_ it but it doesn’t affect him.

“Thomas!” Someone gasps and Cooper starts to growl. There are hands on his shoulder, pulling him flat onto his back, and then a flash of light. A wave of heat, and then shouting: “ _Merde, stupide dragon, baise toi!_ ”

Cooper barks, growling and then there’s a slamming of a door and the hands are back on him. “Thomas, _merde_ , no, you stupid man, don’t have…” the hands trail down his arms, feeling his wrists, then flit around his stomach and thighs. Then they disappear, and a low crashing sound like someone rooting around in drawers.

There’s a scent like eucalyptus leaves but slightly different, and it manages to penetrate the fog around Thomas’ mind. There’s only one other time he’s smelled that exact thing. A memory of a fever and a dragon surface. “Alexander?” His voice is so small, it doesn’t even sound like his.

“Thomas?” The voice says, shocked. The hands are on him again and a face - not Alexander’s - comes into view. “Thomas, my god, did you take anything -”

“Where’s Alex?” Thomas asks. The person above him blinks.

“He’s… he’s not here, he’s at Mount Vernon.” The voice sounds distorted like Thomas is listening to someone speak from inside a tank of water.

“Oh,” Thomas replies.

“It’s alright, just tell me, _did you take something?_ ”

But Thomas is returning to the nothing. The crack of emotion that had bubbled inside disappears again. He can’t take it, he deserves to waste away. The voice calls him name again, hands on shoulders, shaking gently. But if Alexander isn’t here, there’s no point.

The hands disappear, for how long Thomas doesn’t know, but then they’re back and pulling Thomas into a sitting position. Thomas finds himself rested against someone’s arm, being propped up as they work his mouth open.

A thick fluid hits his tongue, then his mouth is forced shut. Thomas swallows on instinct, and then a moment later his stomach churns. There’s something pressed against his chest forcefully. He vomits, more on physical impulse, but nothing really comes up. Just whatever was poured down his throat a moment before.

The sensation shocks Thomas into his own mind, hands coming up to clutch the bowl at his chest as he dry-heaves. The hand holding him up thumps him on the back as Thomas hacks. When he’s done, the bowl is pulled away.

“What the hell?” Thomas breathes, even as the arm holding him up starts to lay him back down.

“Thomas?” Someone says, and for the first time, Thomas understands that the someone is Lafayette. He looks up, finds Lafayette is the one holding him up, a small mixing bowl in his other hand. “Are you with me?” he asks.

“What was that?” Thomas asks, wiping his face with his sleeve.

“Nausiac,” Lafayette explains. “I needed to know if you took something and you weren’t responding.”

“No!” Thomas says, “I didn’t.”

Lafayette glances into the mixing bowl, nose scrunched. “I see that now, but you scared the hell out of me.”

Thomas frowns. “Sorry,” he mutters. “You can leave now. You don’t have to worry about me.”

It’s Lafayette’s turn to frown. “I absolutely need to worry about you. Have you been in bed for _three days_?”

Thomas stills. “Is that how long it’s been?” he asks, quietly. Lafayette’s eyes widen.

“That is how long Alex has been back at school,” he says. Thomas’ breath catches.

“Alexander,” he breathes, and then grabs for Lafayette’s shirt front. “Is he okay? How is he?” He holds onto Lafayette’s shirt like a lifeline. Lafayette looks at him, gently places the bowl on the ground and gently grabs onto Thomas’ arm.

“He’s hurt,” Lafayette says, slowly. “He won’t talk to anyone, and he won’t let anyone touch him either.” Lafayette’s grip on Thomas’ arm tightens. “Thomas, what happened?”

Thomas pauses, his hand in Lafayette’s shirt slowly loosening. “He left,” Thomas says. Lafayette blinks.

“Yes, but what happened?”

“I… I don’t know,” Thomas says. “He left.” He feels the numb trying to encroach again, and Thomas wants to submit to it. Lafayette must see it because he grabs onto Thomas’ arms even harder and turns Thomas to look at him in the eye.

“What do you mean, _you don’t know_?” He asks.

“It was good, we were good, everything was good,” he says. “And then I woke up and he was gone.”

Lafayette’s eyes go round like saucers. “Thomas, oh my god.”

“What?” Thomas asks. Lafayette looks at him with dawning horror on his face.

“Did he tell you ‘yes?’’ Lafayette asks. His fingers dig into Thomas’ arms hard enough to bruise.

“He started it,” Thomas says, voice pathetically small, his mind just starting to catch up.

“ _Did you hear him say the word ‘yes.’_ ” Lafayette insists. Thomas takes a ragged breath, one hand coming up to cover his mouth. He feels like he’s going to be sick again.

“Neither of us said anything,” Thomas says. “It just happened.” Lafayette’s hands slowly loosen, they come away from Thomas’ body. They look at each other, matching looks of horror on their faces.

“He asked for you,” Lafayette says, shakily. “When he saw me, he asked for you. He wasn’t scared or anything.”

But Thomas isn’t listening. He’s drowning in the sick realization that he might have hurt Alexander. Hurt him one of the worst ways you can hurt someone. _I’ve never…_ Alexander says in his memory.

_Despicable, worthless, scum,_ intones the voice. _Seráfina was right. You hurt him. You hurt him so bad_.

Lafayette stands from the edge of the bed. “I’m sure there’s another explanation,” he says, “it doesn’t add up.”

“Marq,” Thomas says quietly, begging, but for what he doesn’t know.

“I’m going to talk to him. I’ll be back, don’t do anything stupid,” Lafayette says. “It’ll be alright. There’s another explanation.” With that, Lafayette is gone with a crack.

Thomas pulls his knees up to his chest, rocking gently back and forth. _What has he done?_ God, he’d give anything for Lafayette to be right, for there to be _another_ explanation.

But all the other explanations Thomas can think up all involve Alexander just not loving him. There’s no way around it. Either Alexander loved him and Thomas hurt Alexander or Alexander never loved him in the first place.

He hears Cooper scratching at the door, but Thomas doesn’t move. His mind is in freefall, he wants the numb back. He can’t live like this, not with either explanation. _Don’t do anything stupid_ , Lafayette says, but Thomas ignores it.

Slowly, as if moving in a dream, he gets out of bed. On the nightstand is a hairbrush filled with dark strands and Thomas picks it up. He doesn’t remember getting to the alchemy lab, but there he is.

He’s standing in front of the barely legal cabinet, hand hovering over the last two bottles in the row. The Amnesiac and the Assassins’ Brew. He can’t pick. He holds the brush in his other hand, but he might not even need it. Cooper is standing at his feet, looking up at him in concern.

If he dies, who takes care of Cooper? What happens to the shop? The only thing James ever wanted to do with his life, does it die with Thomas? He thinks about Angelica’s students, and Maryam, and Lafayette - if Lafayette is still okay with him after this.

_Don’t do anything stupid_ , Lafayette says, and Thomas picks the Amnesiac. If he can’t die, he can’t live with these memories either.

He grabs a beaker and just dumps the entire bottle inside. He doesn’t bother trying to parse out how much he needs, if this takes a few of his other memories, so be it. Thomas doesn’t care. He tears as much of Alexander’s hair out of the brush as he can and drops the handful into the clear liquid.

It bubbles and hisses, Thomas takes it in his hand to watch for the first moment he can down it all. He turns, knowing he’s going to have to use the table behind him for support as the Amnesiac works on him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas catches a glimpse of a figure in the corner of the lab. For a second, he thinks it’s Lafayette. But then he turns and sees it’s James, standing in his school robes. Thomas offers a bitter smile.

“It’s just you and me again,” Thomas says. James frowns, looking at him with disappointment. “I mean, Cooper’s going to be around, hope you don’t mind.” James crosses his arms, glances down at the beaker in Thomas’ hands.

Thomas follows his line of sight, looks at the bubbling potion, and sighs. “What else would you have me do, James?” He asks. “I can’t live like this, and I can’t die.” James glares at him, cold disappointment across his face. “He’s gone, and it’s either my fault or I never had him to begin with, and _I can’t live with that_.”

James works his jaw, one eyebrow cocked slightly. Thomas takes a deep, shaking breath. “What else is there to do?” He asks. The potion is almost completely ready now, the littlest bubbles rising to the surface.

James slowly raises one arm, and points to the wall. Thomas looks where he’s pointing, but just sees shelves of empty bottles. “What?” He asks. James glares at him, eyebrows twitching, hand still outstretched. Thomas tries to think; in that direction in the front door, past that Maryam’s ranch on the other side of town, and further -

“No,” Thomas says. “I can’t.”

“ _Can’t_?” James says. “Or won’t.” Thomas turns to look at James.

“I can’t go after him. I can’t go to Mount Vernon and go searching for him when he’s not going to want me there.”

James looks dead through him as if peering right into Thomas’ soul. “You can try.”

“What if -”

“No what ifs. Don’t be scared of it. Go, and find out why.”

Thomas looks at James, at his outstretched hand, and then down at the glass in his hand. It’s ready to go, one gulp and it’s over. Then Thomas looks up at James one last time, a challenge burning in the other man’s eyes.

“If I go, I’m doing it right,” Thomas says. James nods, the flicker of a smile on his face,

“Good.”

“And this,” Thomas says, holding the beaker out to James, “is still plan B.”

“Alright. Just try,” James says. Thomas’ jaw sets. He nods, pours the potion in a bottle, stoppers it up, and rushes out of the alchemy lab. He leaps up the stairs to his apartment two at a time and turns on the shower.


	18. Chapter 18

Thomas apparates onto the front lawn of Mount Vernon Wizarding School around lunchtime. He hasn’t been on campus since graduation, almost seven years ago at this point, but it hasn’t changed a bit. The central three buildings still sit around a small circular patch of grass, overlooking a field. To his left and right, the two wings of the school extend behind trees, but Thomas doesn’t pay it any mind.

It’s lunch, so the whole student body should be in the main building up ahead for the meal, and that’s Thomas’ goal. He stalks across the grass plot, sheer determination causing his magic to lash out and keep the mud from his shoes. He’s pissed now, anger somehow flooding his system, but at what, Thomas isn’t sure.

Whatever happens inside that building will tell Thomas what he’s got the right to be angry at; himself, Alexander, or something else entirely.

Cooper curls around his shoulders, looking around the empty space. The last few students late to lunch are just ducking inside the meal hall, one of them glances back at him for a moment. Confusion plays across the boy’s face.

“Professor Lafayette?” He asks. Thomas doesn’t pay him any mind as he yanks open the door with his own strength. The small entrance hallway stretches on either side, one way leading to the kitchens, but the large meal hall door stretches up in front of him.

“Nice suit!” The boy calls. “Where did you get a _dragon_ though?” Thomas glances back at him.

“Get to lunch, kid,” he says. The boy’s eyes widen, he nods, scampering off to one of the smaller entrance doors down the hall. Thomas puts one hand on the door handle in front of him and takes a breath. “Let's do this Coop. Let’s get your dad back.”

Cooper barks as Thomas puts his hand on the center of the double doors, not even thinking as he pools magic into his hand and blasts it open. The doors don’t break, but both sides fly away from his hand, crashing into the interior wall.

He hears a girl’s shriek from inside, but he turns to Cooper and mutters: “Find Alex.” Cooper barks and launches himself from Thomas’ shoulders. He takes off into the air, wings outstretched as he soars into the hall. Thomas follows a step behind, walking into the brightly lit mess hall.

The room extends far in every direction, filled with tables that are filled with students. Terrified faces look in his direction, but Thomas doesn’t mind. It just means that he can easily skip over the faces he’s not looking for.

On the opposite end of the hall is the staff table, regal-looking adults caught in states of shock at Thomas’ entrance. The first one to react is George Washington himself, standing from the headmaster’s chair and glaring down at Thomas. The others start to rise to their feet, drawing wands.

A hush spreads through the hall, and Thomas can hear kids whispering to one another. “That’s Thomas Jefferson!” One kid mutters to a friend, but Thomas doesn’t pay it any mind. Cooper completes his aerial circle of the hall just as Thomas starts to makes his way down the hall. Cooper hovers in the air, barks once and Thomas knows that means Cooper can’t find him.

Thomas stalks down the hall, heading directly for the teacher’s table. There’s an empty seat three down from Washington's’ right, but other than that, Thomas is walking towards a line of very angry, very accomplished witches and wizards. Most of them have their wand tips alight, but Washington holds up one hand.

“Sir Jefferson,” He says, voice booming through the hall. Muffled gasps and ‘I told you so’s’ come from the students. “To what do we owe this visit?” But Washington’s tone and posture tells Thomas that he knows what Thomas is here for.

Thomas makes it to the table and plants his hands on the wood. “Where is he?” He asks, looking up at Washington. Washington’s jaw sets. “ _Where is he_?” Thomas says, much louder this time.

“Who are you looking for?” Washington asks. Thomas growls.

“You know damn well who I’m looking for,” Thomas says. His hands curl around the edge of the table. “Tell me.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Washington says, voice hardening even further.

“Not until you tell me where he is.”

Washington glares down at him, silver magic gathering in his fingertips. Thomas cocks an eyebrow. He’s never been in a duel with _Washington_ before, but there’s a first time for everything.

“I will ask you one more time to _leave_ my school,” Washington warns. Thomas looks up at him for a moment, works his jaw, and gets an idea. Turning around, he puts his fingertips to his throat to amplify his voice when he says:

“Ten thousand gold to whoever tells me where Alexander Hamilton is.” Thomas glares around the meal hall, sees the shocked faces of the student body. But he doesn’t even get an answer before his gaze hits the still-open double doors and the group of people standing there.

Lafayette stands in the doorway, arm held out protectively behind him. John Laurens is beside him, livid rage playing across his face. And there, behind them both, stand Eliza Schuyler and Alexander, the man's’ face buried in Eliza’s shoulder.

Cooper barks above Thomas, hovering in the air high above as Thomas leaves the staff table. It’s silent in the hall as he makes his way back to the doors, the only noise is his own footsteps. Laurens hisses something to Lafayette, Lafayette goes to respond but Laurens is already breaking out into the hall.

“How _dare_ you,” Laurens snarls. “How dare you show up here after what you’ve done.” He matches Thomas step for step, stalking towards him with murder in his eyes.

“Stand down Laurens,” Thomas says. Laurens’ anger just intensifies.

“Absolutely not.” Laurens reaches into his robes, going for his wand but Thomas is faster. With a simple flick of his fingers, Laurens is knocked sideways. His legs catch on a bench and he’s forced into a sitting position. Laurens tries to stand, to speak, but he’s struggling against invisible bonds it seems. He glares as Thomas passes, still fighting to get up.

Lafayette’s eyes widen. “No!” He calls, rushing out into the hall. For a moment, Thomas thinks Lafayette is coming at him, hand outstretched, but his eyes are looking behind Thomas. “Don’t!”

“Lafayette,” Thomas warns, and Lafayette’s eyes jump between Thomas and whatever he’s looking at. The faculty must be ready to blast Thomas into the next life for touching a student. Lafayette looks at Thomas.

“I was getting it figured out,” he says. “Please, just go home. I’ll be back -”

“ _Lafayette,_ ” Thomas hisses again. He has not stopped in his forward advance, and Lafayette just watches him approach, indecision in his eyes. Then, silently, Lafayette stands aside, letting Thomas pass by.

“Professor!” A woman’s voice calls, but Lafayette plants himself between Thomas and the rest of the faculty.

That just leaves Eliza, who doesn’t seem like she’s going to be moving from where she’s holding Alexander. That’s fine, as long as she doesn’t try and stop him. She looks at him silently as he approaches, wary of anything she might try to do. But she stays still, and Thomas stops in front of the two of them.

Thomas pauses, looking down at Alexander’s cowering figure. He won’t look up at Thomas, and Thomas doesn’t dare try and touch him.

“All I want to know,” Thomas says, voice hard, “is why you left.” Alexander visibly stiffens in Eliza’s arms, but Thomas keeps talking. “I would just like honesty. If I hurt you, I would like to know. And if you didn’t… didn’t _care,_ I’d like to hear it out of your own mouth. I just want to know, so I can figure out how to move on with my life.” At that, Alexander moves, pulling himself out of Eliza’s embrace. “So -”

Thomas cuts off. His voice fails him as he gets a look at Alexander’s face: blotchy, red, with huge circles under his eyes. He looks _awful_ , and it shatters Thomas’ heart. The anger all disappears in a flash, and all that’s left is hurt.

“Why?” Thomas asks, his own voice suddenly much weaker, much more pitiful. “Why did you leave?” Alexander’s eyes widen, his grip on Eliza’s arm falters. “I thought you…. I thought you l -”

Thomas can't say it. He can’t force it out of his mouth. Cooper lands delicately on the ground beside him. He can hear Lafayette shouting with someone behind him, but that’s not what he’s focused on. Thomas just takes a shuddering breath. “Please,” he says. “I’m sorry if I… just tell me.”

Alexander looks up at him for what seems like an eternity. “I,” he starts, stumbling over even that word. “I wanted it but I was scared.”

Thomas’ eyes widen. “Scared?” He repeats, unsure. Alexander nods.

“It was so much, and I…” Alexander takes a breath. “I was scared of everything I was feeling and that you just thought of me as a replacement for James and -”

“Oh,” Thomas breathes, “Oh no. Never. Alexander, you are no one’s replacement.” Thomas wants nothing but to take Alexander into his arms and never let go.

“But -”

“I loved James, but not in the way I love you,” he says. The word just spills out of his mouth without a second thought but Thomas means it. “He was like my brother, but you’re so much different.”

“I…” Alexander trails. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Thomas responds. Alexander looks up at him, and Thomas’ heart melts.

“I love you too,” Alexander breathes. “I love you so much it scares me.”

Thomas just holds his arms out, and Alexander takes it. He leaves Eliza’s side and goes barreling into Thomas’ chest. Thomas catches him, staggering under Alexander’s momentum but staying upright. They just hold each other for a moment, Thomas’ face pressed against Alexander’s head.

“Take me home?” Alexander asks. Thomas nods.

“Do you need your stuff?”

“My dorm first then,” he says. “Then take me home.”

So that’s what happens. Alexander apparates them from the mess hall to a small, three person dorm room, grabs a bag from the floor, and lets Seráfina climb onto his shoulder.

 ** _Hello again Jefferson_** , she says, disdainfully. **_I see I was right_**.

Thomas glances at Alexander’s face and can see that he probably can’t hear Seráfina’s words. _No,_ he responds. _Fuck you, you were wrong_.

**_Prove it then_.**

The twinkling in her eyes tells Thomas that he’s gotten the closest thing to her blessing as he’s ever going to get. Alexander takes Thomas’ hand and smiles up at him. Thomas squeezes it, takes a breath, and apparates them home.

\--------------

The ringing of the shop bell makes Thomas look up from where he was sorting potion bottles. From his spot at the counter, he could see the young woman in familiar blue uniform walking through the door.

“Welcome to Madison’s,” he calls. “Though, if you’re looking for Alexander, you’ll want to go one building over to his clinic.”

“No sir,” she says. “I’m looking for Thomas Hamilton-Jefferson?”

Thomas cocks an eyebrow. “What does the esteemed Mount Vernon want from _me_?” The girl approaches the counter and hands Thomas an envelope made of familiar stationary. Thomas looks at it mildly confused. What does Washington want from him?

He pops open the seal, pulls out the letter and scans it. His stomach drops, rereading it twice. “ _Alexander!_ ” He shouts. Cooper - now so big his body can circle the entire shop floor - picks up his head at the sudden noise. A moment later, a door in the right wall of the shop opens.

“You called, dear?” Alexander asks, poking his head through. Thomas holds out the letter, letting his head drop to the counter. Alexander takes it, reads it once, and breaks out into laughter.

“Did they not learn their lesson?” Alexander asks.

“Apparently not,” Thomas groans. The girl looks between them confusedly. Alexander tosses the letter onto the counter next to Thomas.

“Well, she’s _your_ responsibility,” he says. “The Schuyler trio is here, Maryam and Mariah are all worried about Angie’s baby.”

Thomas whimpers. “I don’t want another apprentice.”

“Hey, the last one turned out pretty good, no?” Alexander asks, laughter in his voice.

“Get out,” Thomas says, pointing at the conjoined door.

“Professor Lafayette says hello,” the girl says suddenly. “He also told me to tell you ‘don’t fuck up this one this time.’”

Thomas picks his head up. “That’s what he said?” The girl shifts awkwardly on her feet.

“Well, he said ‘don’t fuck this one this time,’ but he meant _fuck up_ , right?”

Alexander _shrieks_ with laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! That's all I've been working on for the last three weeks. I really hope you enjoyed this, and it wasn't a flaming trash heap.
> 
> (Side note: this was meant to be longer with a whole third arc, but I did _not_ have the time for that considering I wrote the ending the morning of turn in.)
> 
> I'm gonna go sleep for a while. Dueces.


End file.
